And She Was Not An Adventure
by girlinshipwreck
Summary: Clara Hartley is standing in line for her usual morning coffee, when Flynn Carsen skips the queue, changing her life forever. {And The Crown of King Arthur/And The Sword in The Stone, AU}. Author's Note: The reviews section contains spoilers for this story.
1. Never Judge A Book By Its Cover

**Author's Note:** Videos for characters canon and original, can be found on my Youtube channel under _**girlinashipwreck**_.

* * *

**Never Judge A Book By Its Cover**

Clara Hartley stood in the queue, _Insular Romance: Politics, Faith, and Culture in Anglo-Norman and Middle English Literature_ tucked under her arm, tapping her foot impatiently, shooting swift, barbed glances at the treacherous, ticking clock. The early morning rush at Starbucks was always a nightmare to navigate, and today was no different. No matter how early she arrived to grab her usual Caffè Misto, she was always last in line.

As the queue edged forwards, she flipped open her phone, checking for non-existent text messages. Clara didn't even know how to text, even though she knew how to speak Occitan. Her social life was as extinct as the dinosaurs, but she liked to maintain the pretence she was a party animal. But the closest she ever got to chaos was when _Chaucer's Constance and Accused Queens_ was shelved under the wrong subject. Time ticked slowly on, Clara's foot tapping with it, then miracles of miracles, she was at the front, only for a man wearing a tweed jacket to appear out of nowhere and take her turn.

"Hey!" she protested, stepping forwards.

"Ninjas," he fired over his shoulder at her, "and a Pike Place Roast please. With extra kick to boot," he said to the barista.

"Ninjas what?"

As though in answer to her question, several whip-wielding ninjas stormed Starbucks, led by a woman with choppy, dark hair. Clara experienced a moment of the ridiculous colliding with the sublime. The queue dispersed, everybody heading screaming for the exits, the barista ducking behind the counter, leaving only Clara and the tweed wearing man to face the music.

"Hello," the woman sneered as she advanced on Clara.

"Oh, you're not here for me?" the man said, pointing to himself, sounding confused.

"Not this time, Flynn," the woman said, "though I shouldn't be surprised to see you here."

"I was just getting a coffee," Flynn said, bewildered now.

"Yes, by skipping the queue," Clara retorted despite herself.

"Oh, she's _British_," the woman gasped, clasping a hand over her heart.

"What of it?" Clara tried to say coolly, even though she was quaking inside.

"Your accent is so _cute_," the woman gushed.

"Who the hell are you people!?" Clara snapped, her last nerve snapping at the same time.

"Never mind us," the woman smiled coldly, "what about you, Clara Guinevere Hartley?"

"How do you know my name?" Clara whispered, taking a step back.

"Likes illuminated manuscripts, voltas and Clarice Cliff pottery," the woman continued, as though Clara hadn't spoken. "Ideal man, Indiana Jones. Shame he doesn't do online-dating, huh?"

"What do you want?" Clara asked, trying and failing to keep her voice steady.

"I want your death, little lady," the woman leered, "and I'm going to get it, as of now."

She suddenly lunged forwards, pulling out a dagger, but Clara was quicker, smashing _Insular Romance: Politics, Faith, and Culture in Anglo-Norman and Middle English Literature _across the woman's face, knocking her flying. Then Clara was being dragged sideways, the heels of her knee-high boots skittering wildly across the floor as she went. Then she staggered to a halt, only to find herself in the alleyway outside, the sound of their pursuers' pulse-racingly close.

"You're a fast mover," Flynn said, making her swing round, "I'll give you that."

Clara stared at him, realising he'd been the one to haul her out here. "I guess terpsichore has its advantages in the 21st century as well as of the 16th," she snapped.

"You don't exactly look like a pavane kind of person," Flynn observed, his gaze flickering over her red and black tartan mini-skirt and pussy-bow necked blouse.

"I'm going to look dead unless I get the hell out of here!"

"Never judge a book by its cover," Flynn muttered under his breath, before turning to face the brick wall before them. Clara glanced at him, before doing a double-take. Where there had been no door before, there was one now, bright blue with a highly polished letter-box. Flynn rolled his eyes before reaching over and turning the handle.

"After you," Flynn said with an exaggerated bow.

"Where - where are -are they - they?" Clara stuttered, looking behind her instead. "The ninja people, they were right on top of us!"

"I slowed them down," Flynn said, pulling awkwardly at his cravat.

Clara just stared at him.

"Never mind," Flynn sighed, before steering her by the shoulders through the impossible blue door.

_Tell me all about your foreign wars  
And all about the photographs that line your drawers  
Cause I know a lot about closing doors  
But not enough about what opens up yours..._


	2. Welcome (Not) To The Library

**Welcome (Not) To The Library **

_A heart is so easy to keep _  
_When I think of the curious look in your eyes and impossible_  
_Oh, only you could really know_  
_I'll never let a little secret go..._

Flynn led the way through a dizzying maze of bookshelves and display cases, Clara half running to keep up with him, her head spinning. Ninjas, magic doors and mysterious strangers; there was only so much madness she could take before she went mad herself. Now she seemed to be somewhere left of the TARDIS and east of Hogwarts, trapped in a library with no apparent limits.

As Clara bypassed what appeared to be a phoenix rising from the ashes, she wondered if she'd actually woken up this morning, and this was all just a dream in her head. Any minute now, her alarm would go off, blaring _Habanera _and she'd reach out to switch it off, blearily anticipating another day at Hurricane Anne's Breezy Bistro -

"Who is this?" a voice asked pettishly, making Clara glance up in surprise, only to find herself in some sort of library wing filled with Grecian columns and a sweeping oaken staircase leading to yet another upper floor.

Flynn just waved his hand impatiently at Clara as he sidestepped behind an antique desk piled high with papers, before bending down and beginning to pull out drawer after drawer. The woman who had spoken stepped forwards, eyes narrowing behind her tortoiseshell glasses. Clara tried for a friendly smile but it came out more as a grimace.

"And who might you be?" the woman asked, setting down her tea-cup.

"She's Guinevere," Flynn interrupted abruptly, chucking a stuffed parrot over his shoulder.

"I'm not" -

Before Clara could finish her sentence, a sword was at her throat, apparently being wielded by an invisible hand.

"No, Cal!" Flynn shouted, rushing forwards. "She's not that Guinevere!"

The sword quivered threateningly.

"My name is Clara actually," Clara said in a strangled voice. "Guinevere is just my middle name."

For a long moment the sword remained where it was, its blade almost drawing blood, then it zoomed away, disappearing through a set of double doors structured out of clouded glass and ornate ironwork. Clara stared at them, seeing that part of the pattern consisted of a sword on each side, almost like an emblem of sorts, before slowly raising her hand to her neck.

"Wow, that was rather exciting," the woman said witheringly.

"I'm having an Anne Boleyn moment," Clara whispered, slumping against the side of Flynn's desk.

"Don't touch me!" the desk protested.

Clara jerked upwards, staring at the desk in shock.

"Don't worry about him," Flynn said, trying on a bonnet, "he has abandonment issues."

"After Winston bequeathed him to the Library, he was never the same again," the woman confided in an undertone.

"Ah, old Churchie," another voice said from behind Clara, "bit of a gab, but made an excellent bacon sandwich."

Clara slowly turned around, only to see an old man with a suit and comb-over in the full-length mirror. Her reflection crossed oddly with his. Heart pounding, she turned around again, but there was nobody behind her. He really was in the mirror, not outside it. Head spinning at super-speed, she leaned round the mirror, trying to find the trick, only to find none.

"Hey, buy a guy a drink first," the old man said, sounding put out.

Clara took a step back.

"You're a hologram," she said, pointing to him.

"I'm a ghost, dear," he said not unkindly.

Clara just nodded, before backing away.

"You alright?" the woman asked, exchanging a glance with the ghost.

"No, I'm not," Clara said with great difficulty, before crossing her arms over her chest, almost trying to hold herself together.

"Some ninjas tried to kill her in Starbucks," Flynn said flippantly, ripping off his false beard.

"I guess that's a typical day in the office for you then," Clara fired back.

"Some zombie Samurai tried to slice me into salami last Saturday," Flynn said, clapping his hands together, making all the drawers slam shut in synchronization.

"Ease up on the alliteration, big boy," Clara scoffed.

Flynn just ignored her, throwing himself down into the depths of a battered looking leather armchair instead. To Clara's relief, it didn't speak.

"So what are you going to do with her, Guinevere, I mean?" the woman then asked Flynn, picking up her teacup again.

"It's Clar" -

\- "She'll have to stay here," Flynn said abruptly, steepling his long fingers together, "for the time being."

"I'm not" -

\- "Too many have died already," Flynn said darkly, making Clara pale.

"Who has die" -

\- "She'll keep you company I suppose," the woman said thoughtfully, sipping her Earl Grey.

"I don't need company," Flynn said, irritated, "but you'll have to phone up her employer, say she had a family emergency or something" -

\- "I don't have any fami" -

\- "We don't want anybody asking any awkward questions," the ghost said, nodding wisely.

"She has a life to go back to," Flynn said, getting to his feet. "But until then..."

"Until what?" Clara asked suspiciously, feeling like the ground had been swept out from under her feet.

Flynn turned to face Clara. "Welcome to the Library," he said, not sounding the slightest bit welcoming.


	3. The Pages Of Purgatory

**The Pages Of Purgatory **

_And finding answers _  
_Is forgetting all of the questions we called home_  
_Passing the graves of the unknown... _

Flynn dusted down his tweed jacket with one hand, clutching a croissant with the other. He'd left Clara in the library wing, before disappearing to Dijon, feeling like he needed a trip to France to clear his head. He knew he was being a cur towards Clara, but it was better that way. The less she knew about the Library, the better. There was no need for her life to become entangled with the Library's. Once he'd sorted out the fankle she'd found herself in, he'd send her on her merry way.

As he strode towards the staircase, he glanced over the balustrade, only to hesitate at the sight of Clara sitting in the middle of the floor below, arms wrapped around her head. Flynn took a step back, feeling the first stirrings of guilt. But what could he do? She wanted answers, and he couldn't give her them. Some of the answers he didn't even know himself. He really had just stepped out for a coffee that morning, needing his usual caffeine hit to set him up for the day. He'd had no intentions of becoming saddled with some mini-skirted stranger, but now he was, and he just had to make the best of a bad situation.

Whether Clara would was a whole different question, one Flynn was also unable to answer.

* * *

"Dr. Clara Guinevere Hartley," Judson said, straightening a button on his suit, "twenty seven years old, IQ of 290, muliti-lingual, single, no dependants, waitress at Hurricane Anne's Breezy Bistro, used to teach Medieval and Renaissance Studies before the funding to her department was cut. Mother died five years ago, has no other known family. Has a complex about King Arthur bordering on slight obsession."

"Thank you for that succinct summary of our resident interloper," Flynn said curtly as he polished Excalibur, the sword almost purring in appreciation.

"Pretty as a picture too," Judson said under his non-existent breath.

"Her face is so wide she probably needs three mirrors to see it," Flynn snapped, "and she's got a funny nose."

Judson just raised his eyebrows.

"And she's miniscule," Flynn continued, "like Polly Pocket come to life."

"Maybe that's her mystery," Judson said. "She's an inanimate object trying to find her place in the world, when it's really on a toy-store shelf."

"I am not some child's play-thing!" Clara retorted from the doorway.

"Oh, hello Clara," Judson said jovially, "didn't see you there."

"Of course you wouldn't," she snapped, "I'm miniscule, remember?"

"I have to wash my hair," Judson said, before fading into oblivion again.

"Why are you here?" Flynn said, examining his reflection in Excalibur's now gleaming surface.

"Some ninjas tried to assassinate me, remember?" Clara said, stepping into the room.

"No, I know that," Flynn sighed, "I mean why are you here? Like _here?_"

"A roll of loo paper tried to strangle me," Clara snapped again.

"So would you if someone tried to wipe their backside with your face," Flynn snapped back.

"That's its job though!" Clara argued, feeling like she'd gone mad.

"You keep telling yourself that," Flynn muttered, resuming his polishing.

"I just want to go home," Clara cried, stamping her foot, "I don't want to be here, with talking furniture and angry loo paper and dead people living in mirrors! _This is not my life!_"

"Never said it was."

"Take me home," Clara almost pleaded. "I don't care how, whether it's by magic carpet or tornado, just take me back to my apartment."

"Your apartment is no longer standing," Flynn said coldly, "it was blown up this morning, soon after I brought you here."

Clara stared at him, all the blood draining from her face.

"The authorities are saying it's a gas explosion," Flynn said darkly, "but we know better."

"There is no we."

"Never said there was."

"Would you stop saying that!"

"Try and stop me," Flynn beamed.

"I. Hate. _You_."

Clara followed Flynn through the office doorway, resisting the urge to give him a good kick up his padded posterior.

"Why am I here?" she repeated, taking a savage satisfaction in making him scowl.

"I don't know."

"Well, why were these... these _ninjas_ trying to kill me?" Clara asked with some difficulty. "Why was my apartment blown up?"

"I don't know!"

"Where am I, then?" Clara demanded. "What exactly is the Library?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not!?"

"Because it's a secret!" Flynn yelled, whirling on her.

"It's a bit late in the day for that," Clara scoffed. "I'm here, aren't I?"

He just shook his head at her, before tugging down a tweed sleeve.

"What's with the magic tricks?" Clara then asked, nibbling at her nail. "Are those actually real or is that just wishful thinking on my part?"

"You'll sleep here," Flynn said, sidestepping the question as he pointed to an uncomfortable looking couch in the corner.

Clara just stared at him.

"That woman with the dagger knew you," Clara said suddenly, crossing her arms over her chest. "How?"

"Our paths have crossed a few times," Flynn admitted reluctantly.

"What, like romantically?" Clara said, perking up. "Is she your insane ex?"

"Don't be so absurd," Flynn scoffed this time.

"What, she's your arch-enemy then?" Clara breathed, her dark eyes widening dramatically.

Flynn rolled his eyes.

"So where do you sleep?" Clara then asked, switching tack.

"Up in the belfry with the other bats."

"The Twilight Saga tweed-style," Clara said smartly.

"Edward Cullen with elbow patches."

"Bella Swan with brains."

"She had brains," Flynn protested.

"Show me them, then."

"Umm," Flynn said, pretending to rummage through his pockets, "they're here, somewhere..."

"So where do you sleep, big boy?" Clara asked again, making him glance up at her.

"I usually sleep here," Flynn then admitted uneasily, "but I'll find somewhere else to kip."

"Don't you have a house to go back to?"

"This is my home," Flynn said, gesturing to the high vaulted ceiling.

At this, Clara turned her back on him, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Everything you require is here," Flynn said formally, trying to hide his discomfort at her distress under a false facade, "all the necessary facilities needed to support life" -

\- "Fine, there's a bathroom," Clara snapped, whirling around, "but what about food and clothes and deodorants and - and Twitter!?"

"The Library will provide," Flynn intoned, before turning on his heel and leaving her.

* * *

"You have got to be kidding," Clara whispered, picking up the voluminous nightgown caked with dust. She had wanted a pair of pyjamas, not a shroud. Setting it back down on the couch, she leaned against the oak-panelled wall, ignoring its protests about personal space, burying her face in her hands. Her whole existence had been wiped out as though it had never existed, trapping her here in the pages of purgatory.

"Here," Flynn said, making Clara start violently, "this will do the trick." To her disbelief, he handed her a cream puff.

"What's that for?" she said incredulously. "And you should knock by the way," she added, annoyed.

"For your tears," Flynn said in confusion, "and why should I knock on my own door?"

Clara rammed the cream puff in his face, suddenly losing her rag.

"Get out!" she screamed, shoving him hard in the chest. "Get out! Get out! Get out!"

"Hey!" Flynn shouted, batting her hands aside, face dripping pastry. "_Hey!_"

"GET OUT!"

Flynn got out.


	4. The Librarian's Apprentice

**The Librarian's Apprentice**

Clara pushed the hair out of her eyes, stomach rumbling painfully. She'd slept in her clothes on the floor, leaving the shroud where it lay. When she'd tried to turn in for the night, the couch had thrown her off, a bit like a bucking bronco. The ground had seemed a safer option, even though she'd half expected it to crack open and dispose of her into Dante's Inferno or something. Nothing would surprise her anymore. The brand new toothbrush she'd tried to use had suddenly sprouted fangs, the toothpaste doing the same. As for the hairbrush...

She shuddered at the memory of it opening up its beady eyes, before getting unsteadily to her feet. As she did so, the door burst open, Flynn bearing a tray of food, a dress slung over his arm. She did a double-take at the sight of the flower-pot on his head. Unperturbed by her raised eyebrow, he set the tray down on the desk, before chucking the dress at her, Clara having to dive like a goal-keeper to catch it.

"All items of hosiery, undergarments and such can be found in the bathroom," Flynn said pompously, "and that includes toiletries and fripperies for the average female."

"Your bathroom hates me," Clara said from between gritted teeth, "and so does your couch."

"I shall have a word with the bathroom," Flynn said loftily, straightening his bow-tie, "and as for the couch, she's just having separation issues, that's all."

"I'm having issues full-stop!" Clara seethed as Flynn strode into the bathroom, disappearing through its doorway. Shaking her head to herself, she turned the dress over in her hands, raising both eyebrows now at the blue and white polka-dot pattern of the fabric. But the rough feel of it between her fingers made her accept once and for all this really was happening to her, that it wasn't a dream or somebody's piece of fan-fiction. She really was trapped in a labyrinth of a library with a mad-man at its helm.

Flynn strode back out of the bathroom, looking triumphant, his victorious expression sitting at odds with the flower-pot now tilted over one eye. He clapped his hands together before breaking into a break-dancing routine which morphed into a speeded up Scotch reel, the sight making Clara take a step back. She was heavily into her Tudor dancing, but when he then started doing the cha-cha, before segueing into some sort of odd side-step shuffle, she knew where her love of dance ended, usually before the men in white coats came bursting through the doors.

"Are you done?" she asked uneasily as he started doing the Charleston.

"I am, but the curse isn't," he said, panting slightly now with the exertion.

"Curse?"

"I was cursed before I came in here," he explained, doing the Can-Can with admirable ease, "to dance myself to death."

"You were cursed?" Clara said slowly, not sure if she was hearing things.

"By a crone in Budapest."

Clara just stared at him before suddenly slapping him hard across the face. He reeled back, his hand flying to his cheek, eyes wide with shock. Clara crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her head to one side. "Something to say, big boy?" she said pertly.

"You just hit me!"

"But you're not dancing anymore, are you?"

Flynn looked down at his feet, his eyes widening even further. "_Oh_," he breathed.

"Oh indeed," Clara said.

* * *

Clara moved between the bookshelves, the heels of her ballet flats soundlessly crossing the floor. After cleaning herself up in the now well-behaved bathroom, tying her hair up in a high pony-tail and donning the dress Flynn had brought her, the bathroom providing shoes and everything else, she'd tucked into the slightly bizarre breakfast Flynn had laid out for her, before going exploring to no avail.

She'd been in the Library for hours now, wandering its aisles almost forlornly. Any volumes she'd attempted to peruse had evaded her grasp, door handles she'd tried to turn remaining resolutely locked. The Library didn't want her here, and neither did its Librarian. Flynn had nipped off to Nice, or so he said, leaving her to her own lonely devices. She'd tried to seek out the ghost in the mirror, but the glass had remained empty of everything but her reflection.

Clara leaned her head against a display case, ignoring the protests of the artefacts inside. She was a pragmatic kind of person, but this kind of situation required something more than fortitude -

Somebody tapped her shoulder, making her whirl around, expecting to see Flynn, only to see the sword from the day before, floating in front of her. She stared at it, heart in her throat, remembering the coldness of its blade against her skin. But it just continued to hover, almost giving her the impression it was studying her.

"Cal?" she whispered, the cogs of her mind turning...

The sword quivered.

"Cal... Cal..." Clara murmured to herself, before it clicked into place. "_Excalibur?_" she breathed almost reverently, her eyes widening with wonder. Without thinking, she reached out to the sword, almost like she would take a hand, but the sword shot off like a startled cat, making her crash backwards into the display case.

"Do you mind?" a nasally voice complained. "Some of us are trying to sleep here!"

"Sorry," Clara hastily said to the display case before quickly high-tailing it back to Flynn's office.

* * *

"Hello, Hartley," Flynn said, surprised to see Clara loitering in the library wing. Judson had been keeping an eye on her for him, and had said she'd been the office all afternoon, alternating between pacing the ground and pulling files off the shelves, flinging them at the walls when the information inside went blank. He knew that she'd been wandering the Library, but beyond annoying her, it had kept her safe, isolating itself away from her curious fingers.

"Why on earth do you have some sort of shrine dedicated to me?" Clara demanded as she strode towards him, arms crossed over her chest. "Like I'm some kind of crime scene you're sitting vigil at!"

Flynn stared at her blankly.

"I'm talking about that, dumbo!" she shrieked, waving her hand at the various boards erected around the room, all emblazoned with hundreds of pictures of her.

Flynn did a double-take, before remembering. "I'm trying to figure out why these people want to kill you," he said awkwardly, pulling at his bow-tie, "but I seem to have got a bit carried away with myself."

"More like you've gone completely overboard."

Flynn just nodded, his brow furrowing thoughtfully, his attention pleasantly drifting back to the evening he'd spent in the arms of Marlene Dietrich, time-travelling at its best...

"Well, have you figured out the answer yet?" Clara then asked, dropping her arms to her sides.

"Not yet," Flynn snapped, his memories of Marlene becoming dust, "I'm just getting started for chrissake!"

"Maybe if you stopped taking foreign holidays every five minutes, I'd be out of here and out of your hair by now," Clara snapped back.

"The Library doesn't revolve around you, Hartley," Flynn said, advancing on her. "There are other things that require my attention other than some silly little murder attempt on your life."

"Can't you delegate the work to someone else, then?" Clara replied, unperturbed.

"There is no-one else," Flynn said, voice cracking slightly, "there's just me."

Clara frowned, before stepping forwards, staring up at his face, studying it, noting the lines around his eyes for the first time. Flynn ran his hand across his face, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. Up close and without her high-heeled boots, she was even smaller than he remembered. But despite this, there was something indomitable about her that sat at odds with her pretty face and petite figure. He remembered the way she'd smashed that book across Lamia's face, the action almost instinctive. Clara was not all she seemed, there was a storm brewing below that still surface.

"You must need an assistant, then," she then said slowly.

Flynn shook his head. "No," he said, backing away from her, "no, no, _no._"

"I'm a genius," Clara said without egotism, "and I've worked in libraries before. Maybe not magic ones, but a book's a book, right?"

"I said, no!"

"It would just be temporary," Clara argued, advancing on him this time, "until you figured out whatever it is you have to figure out."

"I work alone" -

\- "And if I have to stay here," Clara continued, ignoring him, "I want to earn my keep, whether bed and board is included, I don't care."

"I said, I work alone, Clara" -

\- "I get this is your thing, that you're the Librarian or whatever it is you call yourself," Clara said, "that you're the main man around here, nobody else. But I'm here too, whether you like it or not, and you can't keep me like I'm a pet canary. I have to do something, Flynn, anything - within reason of course," she added hastily.

"No" -

\- "Even if it's just typing or filing, I'll do it. Just give me a goddamn job, Flynn!" she snapped, stamping her foot.

"Fine!" Flynn shouted, flinging his hands up in the air. "Go and file something!"

"Why don't you do it yourself!?" Clara shouted back, forgetting her whole argument.

"I already file evil under history," Flynn said loftily. "It's my MO."

"Your modus operandi is to irritate the hell out of me," Clara retorted. "But I'll go and file something like you said."

Flynn just watched in disbelief as she then turned on her heel and left the library wing, slamming the door behind her. Somehow, in some way, he'd just hired Clara Hartley as his apprentice.

_Oh my my_  
_Oh my stars_  
_Everything you see is ours_  
_Or it could be if you would try..._


	5. Through The Looking Glass

**Through The Looking Glass**

Clara's heels clicked across the floor in a way that was becoming uncomfortably familiar to Flynn. She'd been living in the Library for around three weeks now, the two of them falling into an uneasy routine, with an even more uneasy rapport springing up between them. They largely left each other alone, Clara completing the menial tasks Flynn laid out for her, a list that usually involved cleaning the display cases or dusting the bookshelves, interspersed with random bouts of filing and typing that didn't really fill any purpose beyond keeping Clara occupied.

But Flynn kept up the pretence Clara was contributing towards her keep, because it kept her happy and out of his hair, leaving him to get on with his duties as the Librarian. The Library was lending to the lie, creating enough dust and disorder to ensure Clara didn't have the time to cause any more trouble. The Library cleaned itself, it didn't require Clara's help, but while she was here, it let its standards slip a little. In return, it provided her with all the necessary facilities needed for the average female, Flynn haphazardly providing the rest.

As Clara ran a cloth along the lowest bookshelf, Flynn set down the tome he'd been perusing, his brow furrowing slightly as he watched her work. She seemed content enough on the surface, adapting to the bizarre turn her life had taken with apparent ease, but he knew that appearances were deceptive. Clara's character might have been of a pragmatic, practical bent, but whenever he checked on her in the night, he would hear her crying, her sobs echoing around his office. Sometimes when she thought he couldn't see, she'd lean her forehead against a bookshelf, or her eyes would widen at something he'd say or do, her face taking on a shellshocked expression that she'd swiftly try to conceal.

Sensing his stare, Clara glanced up, her eye catching his. To his surprise, she smiled at him, a small, uncertain smile, but a smile nonetheless. But Flynn didn't smile back, and Clara's smile faded, her lower lip trembling slightly. She turned her back on him, pretending to be engrossed in wiping a mark off the oak wood. Flynn picked up his book again, trying and failing to focus on the page in front of him, the words dancing wildly before his eyes.

"She still here?" Charlene boomed as she strode through the doors, making Flynn start violently.

"Yes, I'm still here," Clara snapped over her shoulder.

"Hello, Clara," Charlene said coldly.

Clara just smiled sarcastically at Charlene before turning her attention back to the bookshelf.

"I didn't know you needed a housemaid," Charlene said to Flynn, nodding at Judson who bowed in his mirror to her.

"I don't need anyone," Flynn retorted, slamming his book down on the desk, ignoring its loud _Ow! _"But until I work out why the Serpent Brotherhood want to kill Hartley, she has to stay here. It's not safe for her to leave the Library until I do so, and I'm no nearer to working out the answer to that particular puzzle than I was three weeks ago."

"Have they gone to ground?" Charlene asked.

"I think so," Flynn said, pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb, "whatever it is they're doing, I don't think they intended for me to stumble across their sordid little scheme."

Clara glanced over her shoulder at Flynn again, her jaw tightening slightly. After a lot of emotional blackmail, Flynn had explained a very little about the woman with the dagger; that her name was Lamia and she was connected to an organization called the Serpent Brotherhood. The old Clara would have laughed in his face at this, but not now, not after what had happened, what she had seen.

Other than that, he'd refused to tell her anything else, stating the less she knew, the better. But both of them knew that Clara couldn't live in a state of ignorance forever, cleaning shelves and making cups of tea; that sooner or later reality would return to claim her. Yet she had nowhere else to go. No matter where she went, she wouldn't be safe. She was a marked woman.

"You know, maybe this is life's way of forcing you to let somebody into that icy fortress you call a heart," Charlene said quietly, startling Flynn again, her words making Clara freeze. "Hell, maybe it's the Library itself who made your path cross with Clara's that day. Out of all the Starbucks' that damn door could have led to, it just had to be the one she was in."

"Don't be ridicolous," Flynn said from between gritted teeth.

"She's here, isn't she?" Charlene pointed out, gesturing impatiently to the still frozen Clara. "She's _here_ in the Library with _you_, Flynn. Is the message getting through yet or do I have to hit you over the head with the Magna Carta again?"

Flynn just ignored her by sticking his fingers into his ears and humming the National Anthem very loudly.

"The flood-gates are opening, Flynn Carsen," Charlene said ominously, heading for the doors, "they're opening whether you like it or not."

* * *

"Lamia's accent," Clara said suddenly, making Flynn look up from the scroll he was studying, "it wasn't real. I mean, it wasn't her voice."

"She's actually British or English or whatever you call it," Flynn said tiredly, "she was just playing games with you, pretending to be American. Her French accent is very popular with her male victims though."

"Oh."

"It's what Lamia likes to do best," Flynn continued, getting to his feet, "toying with her food before eating it."

Clara just passed her cloth from one hand to the next, not sure what to say. Charlene's words that morning had shaken her up, but she hadn't the courage to broach the subject with Flynn, sensing she would be crossing a line with him. Why he was so determined to shut the world out, she didn't know, and she supposed it was none of her business either, but it didn't stop her from fervently wondering why he was that way.

"Don't wait up for me," Flynn said, shrugging on his tweed jacket, "and don't forget about the Christmas pudding in the oven. That'll do for your supper. I'll just run down to Marrakech for a bite to eat."

Clara just nodded, making Flynn glance sharply at her. She had that shellshocked look on her face again, the sight of her so making something inside him snap. Before he realised what he was doing, he took her face between his hands, fiercely kissing her brow, making her look even more shellshocked. There was no passion in his kiss, it was chaste, platonic, but it still shocked Clara with its suddenness.

"You're going to be alright," Flynn said quietly. And then he was gone, as though he'd never been there.

_Till I start wondering, I start wondering_  
_Till I start wondering, I start wondering_  
_If you are ever here at all..._

* * *

Clara paced the ground, heart thudding in her chest at the sight of the row of doors in front of her. It was now or never. If she was here for a reason, it was up to her to find out why. Maybe Charlene was right. Maybe it wasn't co-incidence after all that Clara's path had crossed with Flynn's that day. Maybe there was a bigger plan at play. Clara was clever, but she wasn't stupid. She knew her limits and she knew saving the world wasn't her forte. But it didn't mean she didn't have a part to play. Taking a deep breath, she selected a door at random, not knowing if it would take her to where Flynn had gone. But she had to try, and she turned the handle, expecting resistance, only to find it opening with ease under her fingers.

She stepped through the door, feeling like Alice on the threshold of Wonderland, only for the world to suddenly shrink around her, forcing her onto all fours. For a moment it felt like the air was being squeezed out of her lungs, and then the invisible hand released its grip on her, making her slump forwards, her breath coming in huge rasps. As it dimly dawned on her she was in a tunnel of sorts, she also realized with a faint exultation the Library had allowed her here, that it hadn't barred its doors to her like it usually did.

Spurred on by this thought, she started to crawl forwards, following the sound of voices, the darkness dulling her senses whilst sharpening others. As she moved, there was a loud tearing noise, the tight white lace dress she'd donned that morning now seemingly doomed for the dustbin -

The ground gave way beneath her, the palms of her hands hitting air for a moment. Then she was tumbling forwards, almost head over heels, her body slamming into merciless concrete. Spluttering, she sat up, pushing the hair out of her face, only to find herself looking up at a furious Flynn. Behind him stood three people, one a tall woman with blonde hair scraped back into a bun, wearing some sort of black military uniform and holding a gun aimed in Clara's direction; the others, two men in leather jackets, their hands raised in apparent surrender.

"What are you doing here, Hartley!?" Flynn hissed, helping her to her feet.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Clara countered.

\- "Who the hell are you people?" the blonde woman demanded, her voice shaking slightly, even as her grip on the gun remained steady.

"Hello again, Fraulein," Flynn said formally, bowing to her, hiding his anger as he did so. "I'm nobody and she's nobody," he said, gesturing to Clara.

"We're Mr. and Mrs. Nobody," Clara said hastily, following his lead, only for Flynn to shoot her a funny look.

"If you're nobody, what on earth is the Opal of..." the blonde asked, her voice trailing off in confusion, making Clara realise she was continuing an earlier conversation, one her sudden entrance had interrupted.

"The Opal of Sumara," Flynn said loftily, dusting his suit down, "Teutonic knights recovered it from Jerusalem during the Third Crusade, but it was stolen by the Nazi Occult Division and stored here, forgotten after the war..." He suddenly sped off towards a dark corner, Clara standing there helplessly as he rummaged amongst the rubbish there. Her gaze met the blonde woman's, but there was no solidarity to be found in that quarter.

"So much for sisterhood," Clara muttered, turning her back on her.

"_A-ha!_" Flynn shouted, ripping off a dust-sheet, revealing some sort of sarcophagus. "It's still here! Locked in its original magical safe!"

"And this is good?" Clara asked, wrapping her arms around herself.

"It summons demons," Flynn replied as he pulled out a stethoscope from the inside of his tweed jacket, "but it doesn't control them."

"One little opal does that?" Clara squeaked, exchanging another glance with the blonde, who still had her gun trained on her, and not Flynn funnily enough.

"Hence why it's so valuable to the wrong people," Flynn said, studying the sarcophagus with an expert eye, "and dangerous to the right ones."

"Dangerous?" one of the men in the leather jackets asked nervously.

"Valuable?" the other asked slyly.

"And that illustrates my argument perfectly," Flynn said smartly.

Clara glanced at the men, wondering what their deal was, barely registering the box at their feet. The sly one raised his eyebrows suggestively at her, the other ignoring her very existence. She turned away from them in disgust, Flynn now going off at a tangent about something else altogether, Clara catching the phrases _careless _and _homicidal_. Despite the situation, she sensed Flynn was showing off, but she wasn't fool enough to believe it was for her benefit.

"Another common pair," Flynn said to himself, donning the stethoscope and pulling something small out of his pocket.

"Pair of...?" the blonde asked, shifting her gun from Clara to the men instead.

"Of adjectives," Flynn explained, "they travel in pairs. Unlike me and Mrs. Nobody here," he added, shooting Clara a dirty look, before hitting the sarcophagus with a tuning fork, a tinging sound ringing round the room.

"What?" the blonde woman asked, bewildered now.

"Do try and keep up," Flynn sighed, waving the tuning fork over different corners of the sarcophagus before suddenly slamming the furthest edge with the palm of his hand, making a cloud of orange dust suddenly explode in mid-air like a mini Hiroshima. Clara leapt backwards like a scalded cat, the blonde standing her ground, the men reeling sideways, arms flung over their face.

"Oh," Flynn said, staring at the sarcophagus.

"Oh what?" Clara asked, stepping forwards.

"I've apparently set off a trap," Flynn said slowly, "which I have..." he pulled out a fob-watch from inside his waist-coat, stretching its silver chain to almost breaking point as he studied its frontis-piece, "about three minutes to disarm."

Clara just gawped at him.

"What happens if you don't disarm this device?" the blonde asked quickly as Flynn removed the stethoscope from around his neck.

"The Opal transforms every corpse within a hundred mile radius into flesh-eating zombies," he said, rifling through his satchel, "which seems unnecessarily dramatic, but there you go" -

\- "Well, stop it!" Clara cried. "Don't just stand there talking about it! Do something for chrissake!"

"I'm trying to in case you haven't noticed!" Flynn flung back, sounding like a truculent teenager.

"I don't see you doing it," Clara snapped, stomping over to him. "So bloody sort that sarcophagus out or else!"

"Or else what?" Flynn taunted. "You'll slap me again? Or slam a cream puff in my face like last time?"

"Save it for later, guys!" the blonde shouted, sounding nervous. "Time's ticking!"

"This is a _very _complex alpha-numeric code," Flynn retorted, "it requires finesse and tender loving care!"

"So do I!" Clara bellowed. "But I'm not going to turn everybody into the living dead, so get to it, big boy!"

Flynn sighed heavily before bending over the sarcophagus, humming _Greensleeves _very loudly, almost as though he was trying to drown something out. It was at that moment Clara realised there was something beeping. "Latin Bible verses," Flynn muttered to himself, "which I can't decipher because I can't concentrate due to that beeping nuclear bomb in the corner over there!" he shouted, making Clara jump violently.

The blonde looked at the men, who looked down at their feet, the box lying on the ground between them suddenly becoming the centre of attention. Then the blonde suddenly struck the men, scattering them sideways as she lunged for the box, snatching it up. But Clara was too busy watching Flynn's dirt-smeared face contort in a variety of grotesque shapes to do much else. One second he looked like he smelt something terrible, the next it looked like he was taking his last breath. It was oddly fascinating to watch, capturing Clara's attention completely -

Suddenly bullets were whizzing through the air, making Clara duck down, throwing her arms across her head. But Flynn remained oblivious to the fire-fight, throwing back his head before sneezing very loudly.

"Bless you!" Clara called before she could stop herself.

"Say it in Swahili and I'll love you forever!" Flynn called back, whipping out a measuring tape.

"Akubariki!"

"Now Flynn loves you forever!" Flynn boomed, manically measuring the sarcophagus from all angles.

"Save it for the honeymoon, Romeo!" the blonde hollered.

"The moon really is made of honey, now you come to mention it" -

\- "Never mind that!" the blonde cried. "What the hell do I do with this thing!? How do I defuse it!?"

"Of course!" Flynn beamed. "It's the stations of the cross!"

"For the bomb?" Clara hazarded, lowering her arms.

"For the bomb?" the blonde echoed hopefully.

"No, no, _no_," Flynn said, "it's for the death-trap. For the bomb, it's actually much easier."

"How?" the blonde demanded, firing another round.

"Is it black cylinder or round like a soccer ball?"

"Cylinder!" the blonde said, before leaping backwards as a bullet hit the box, sparking.

"Pop open the side casing," Flynn instructed, unperturbed. "See that blue wire?"

"Yes!"

"Don't touch the blue wire," Flynn said reprovingly, making Clara roll her eyes.

"Arrggh!" the blonde screeched. "Start with don't, _start with don't!_"

Flynn just ignored her, mumbling about the number eight and crosses again, confusing Clara.

"There are fourteen," the blonde said, bewildered, confusing Clara even further.

"Only eight in the Bible," Flynn corrected her, "John is the fourth Gospel condemned for execution, Book 19, Verse 17, Latin numerals 4, 1, 9, 1, 6, 1, 7," he counted, operating the sarcophagus like some kind of switchboard. Then there was a sharp hiss as something rose out of the depths of the sarcophagus, a sort of small cylinder decorated with a swirling sideways pattern, reminding Clara of a Grecian pillar gone wrong. The sight of it made Flynn cheer like a cheerleader, Clara wrapping her arms around her head again, realising with a sickening jolt just how out of her depth she was at this moment.

"Now we're fifty per cent less likely to die," Flynn said in a theatrical aside to the cowering Clara.

Before she could say anything, one of the men rushed out from behind a pillar, firing his rifle at the blonde, roaring like a lion as he ran. But the blonde kept her nerve, shooting him in the shoulder, bringing him down.

"What were you saying?" Clara squeaked, hastily crawling over to the sarcophagus.

"Ssh, Hartley," Flynn reproved, "I'm trying to remember the words to the Macarena."

"The Macarena!?" Clara hissed, now clinging unceremoniously to his leg.

"Final disarm, 2, 2, 5, 6, 6," Flynn intoned.

"Yours or mine?" the blonde asked nervously.

Flynn thought about it for a moment. "Improbably, both," he said, his eyes meeting hers. Then in almost synchronization, they turned to their respective death-traps, saying at the same time, _2, 2, 5, 6, 6, _Clara holding her breath until the beeping stopped, another sharp hiss filling the air, Flynn snatching up the Opal that glowed amongst the smoke like a star in a winter sky.

"Give me the bomb," a voice said, making the blonde whirl around, only to find herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

"3, 1," Flynn said coolly, tucking the Opal inside his tweed jacket.

"3, 1?" the blonde echoed, raising her hands, the man reaching for the bomb.

"There are 30 rounds in an AK-47 magazine," Flynn said like he had all the time in the world, "and 1 in the chamber. I heard him fire 31 shots, but I didn't hear him reload."

The man pulled the trigger, but it just clicked uselessly, the blonde suddenly attacking him, bringing him down, Flynn looking unmoved by the sight of such extreme violence. He glanced down at Clara's frightened face, something shifting behind his gaze she couldn't decipher.

"When's the wedding?" he asked suddenly, startling her.

"What wedding?" she asked, getting unsteadily to her feet.

"Yours, I presume," he said, gesturing to her," what with that dress and everything."

"Shut up," Clara said, punching him on the arm.

"What wedding?" the blonde asked, turning around, only to find an empty space where the strangers had been standing.


	6. The Contrariness of Being

**The Contrariness Of Being**

Clara sat behind Flynn's desk, his tweed jacket draped across her shoulders. With some trepidation, she watched Flynn tear a strip out of the sullen Charlene and silent Library, berating the former for putting ideas in Clara's head, and the latter for letting her carry them out. His angry reaction to her escapade had surprised Clara. She'd been bracing herself for the inevitable storm she'd been sure would strike, but he was treating her like she was the wronged one, rather than the one that had done the wrong.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he yelled up at the vaulted ceiling. "She could have died!"

The Library remained silent, still.

"Whatever point you're trying to prove," Flynn continued, not caring, "you can stop trying to prove it as of this moment!"

"The point is already proven, Flynn," Charlene pointed out with maddening calmness. "Clara's here, she came back alive."

"Because I was there," Flynn snarled, whirling on Charlene. "I'm the only reason she made it back in one piece."

"And that blonde woman," Clara interjected, "she helped a bit as well."

Flynn just glared at her.

"You can't claim all the laurels of glory for yourself," Clara said reasonably.

"I don't need anyone!" Flynn hollered up at the ceiling, ignoring her. "I'm doing just fine on my own, thank you very much!"

Charlene just rolled her eyes, before stalking out of the library wing, Judson wringing his hands nervously in the mirror. Clara caught the old man's eye, something in his face making her heart twist in her chest. She'd really set the cat amongst the pigeons by doing what she'd done, but she couldn't shake off the feeling she'd did the right thing. Alright, clinging to Flynn's leg in fear was hardly her finest hour, but she had to start somewhere. Stepping through a magic door into the unknown had been the first step in the right direction, even if it had led to a ruined dress and severe humiliation.

"I really think you should calm down now," Clara said coldly as Judson faded into thin air, "or you'll end up in that mirror, big boy."

"Just listen to her!" Flynn shouted at the wall. "She's talking like a Librarian!"

Clara just gawped at him.

"Don't you see?" Flynn said suddenly, stooping down and grabbing the arm-rests of her chair, his face inches from hers. "The Library's in your soul now. It won't let you go. It won't let you _live_."

Clara's face paled.

"See the way you were out there today?" Flynn said, straightening up. "I was like that once. Naive. Raw. Inexperienced. I nearly died more times than you had hot dinners. And I promised myself never again."

"Never again what?"

"Never again would I let the Library do that to someone else," Flynn whispered, "never again would I let it hurl somebody into the depths of hell with nothing but a book between them and the flames."

"How?"

"I _learned_. I _lived_."

"And you don't think I can do that as well?" Clara said, standing up, insulted.

"I don't want that for you," Flynn said quietly, looming over her, "I want you to leave the Library - to live your life as if the Library never existed. But until then, you have to stay here, and you have to stay out of the Library's sight. It let you through that door for a reason, but it's never going to happen again, do you hear me? Do you hear me?" he shouted up at the ceiling again.

The Library heard, but it didn't listen.

* * *

Clara tugged down her high-necked blouse, the buttons straining against her stomach. Thanks to Flynn's crazy ideas about cooking, she'd started to put on the pounds, not enough to make her hit the scales and start a diet, but enough to set alarm bells ringing. Unless she got a grip, she'd end up bigger than the Library itself. With the amount of walking and cleaning she did every day, she thought she'd be losing weight, not gaining it. But like dreams, living in the Library went by contraries.

"What's wrong?" Flynn asked, juggling the Opal with an orange plucked out of his pocket.

"I've put on weight," Clara said uneasily.

"So what?" Flynn shrugged. "It suits you."

Clara looked at him, surprised. Then she jumped violently as the phone rang. Flynn didn't even glance at it. As it rang on, Clara looked at him questioningly.

"What?" he asked, annoyed now.

"Well, aren't you going to answer it?" she said.

Flynn just shrugged his shoulders again.

Clara rolled her eyes before gingerly picking up the phone, just in case it came alive in her hands. She still hadn't recovered from her experience with the hairbrush. But to her relief it remained as innocuous as ever.

"Hello?" she asked, voice uncharacteristically timid.

"Hello," a man replied, his tone urgent, "I must speak to Flynn Carsen."

"Umm," Clara said, startled slightly at his forthrightness.

"I must speak with the Librarian," the man reiterated, his voice becoming desperate.

Clara glanced helplessly at Flynn, but he just mimed slitting his throat, indicating for her to cut the call off, "Mr. Carsen isn't here," Clara said, biting her lip. "He's at Minneapolis attending a Library Scientist Seminar."

Flynn applauded the inventiveness of her lie, nearly dropping the Opal and orange in the process.

"Flynn Carsen is not in Minneapolis," the man said, "he was in Berlin recovering the Opal of Sumara."

Clara frowned at the phone, Flynn nonplussed as he carefully placed the Opal on a display mount.

"Who is this?" the man demanded. "Are you his wife?"

"Clara Carsen?" Clara said before she could stop herself. "It does have quite the ring to it."

Flynn tutted, snatching the phone out of her hand. "Bonjour?" he shouted down the line, Clara leaning in to listen.

"Is that you?" the man said in disbelief. "Is this Flynn Carsen? The Librarian?"

"It's me," Flynn admitted reluctantly, throwing the orange up into the air before catching it again. "How do you know who I am?"

"You won't remember me," the man said, sounding out of breath now, like he'd been running, "I'm outside, I'm coming in!"

"How do you know about the Library?" Flynn said, shoving the orange into a confused Clara's hands as he suddenly took off between the bookshelves, Clara hastily putting the orange down on the table, before following him, struggling to keep up.

"I'll explain everything in greater detail," the man wheezed, "just tell me where to meet you."

"What's going on!?" Clara demanded, grabbing Flynn by the arm, forcing him to face her.

"Just stay here," he ordered, ramming the phone into her arms. "I'll be right back."

* * *

"What, he was murdered?" Clara said in disbelief. "That man I was just speaking to on the phone, he's actually _dead_?"

"As a dodo," Flynn said abruptly, shoving a sheet of paper inside his pocket.

"What's that?" Clara asked, gesturing to it.

"That's nothing," Flynn snapped. "Keep your little snub nose out of my business, Hartley."

"Am I ever going to leave the Library?" Clara said suddenly, startling him. "Or am I going live out the rest of my days here, dying a lonely old woman surrounded by scrolls, the Library burying me in a tomb built from books, Excalibur throwing a party celebrating my demise, singing sweet, sweet revenge?"

Flynn just stared at her, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead. "That man who was murdered, that's not going to be you," he then said, startling her this time, "you're going to leave the Library, and you're going to live. So don't worry about the future, it'll be fine."

"That's precisely what I'm worried about," Clara scoffed. "You being the janitor of my life."

"I'm the Librarian, not the Janitor," Flynn said pompously, tying his cravat around his head Rambo-Style, "what could possibly go wrong?"

"Everything maybe?"

He just patted her patronizingly on the head before skipping off, disappearing out of sight behind the book-shelves. Clara watched him go, her heart sinking in her chest. It was starting to dawn on her that Flynn wasn't trying as hard as he made out he was on getting her back home. She wasn't as high up on his list of priorities as she'd like to be. Time was ticking on, and she was still here, the stuff about the Serpent Brotherhood going to ground starting to sound like an excuse for him not to snoop around.

But after the debacle of yesterday, she couldn't help but unwillingly see the situation from his perspective. There had been a flesh-eating zombie resurrecting Opal for him to deal with, on top of the nuclear bomb and everything else. Clara's problems rather paled into insignificance beside such potential catastrophes. If Flynn was dealing with these kinds of disasters on a daily basis, well it was really no wonder she was at the bottom of his to-do list. And now a man had been murdered practically on the Library's doorstep, another situation Flynn had to sort out. At this rate, she was never going to get out of the Library, not unless she took matters into her own hands.

As she headed for the library wing, she bit her lip, wondering if she should chance another door. Whatever Flynn said to the contrary, the Library seemed to have some sort of purpose for her after all. In all the time she'd been within its walls, it had been unfriendly and distant, barring doors to her and removing books from her hands. Now it was steering her to somewhere, but where Clara didn't know. But the Library seemed to realise as Clara did, that she couldn't live here forever, cleaning its shelves and filing documents that turned blank whenever she touched them. She had to move on, and the Library was possibly pointing her in the right direction.

Clara came to a stop outside the library wing's doors, hesitating before tracing the metal framework of the sword with the tip of her finger. Despite her best efforts, Excalibur remained as elusive as ever, hovering just out of reach, always skittering off like a scalded cat. She thought it wanted to be friendly, but her middle name was getting in the way, forcing the sword to remain fervently loyal to its original owner. Shaking her head slightly, she pushed the doors open, thankful to find the library wing empty, the mirror only reflecting the room.

She had been here last night, arguing with Flynn over what she'd done, admitting that yes she had got in his way, but no she had been right to do it. She'd been angry, Flynn merely upset. After a fifteen minute long fierce fight, he'd actually gotten down on bended knee and begged her to never pull another stunt like that again. Something in his face had made her give the lie, promising she wouldn't, with her fingers crossed behind her back. But Flynn had accepted her at face value, instantly becoming bizarrely happy again. And she knew it was because she was back in her box again, Clara the Cleaner, the girl he left behind while he went off saving the world, someone he would soon be shot of.

"Hello, Clara," Judson said from behind her, making her turn around.

"Hey," Clara said tiredly, before sitting down on the edge of Flynn's desk, ignoring its protests.

"How are you holding up?"

"Like a fortress made of pillows," Clara replied, "ready to collapse at any time."

"You and Flynn friends again though?"

"If anything, he's more my enemy."

"Don't be so dramatic," Judson tutted, shaking his head. "Flynn's anything but that."

"Well, what is he then? Flynn doesn't exactly do friendship," Clara pointed out.

"Did he propose to you last night?" Judson asked, his eyes twinkling as he changed tack.

Clara rolled her eyes. "As if," she scoffed. "It would be the Flynn Carsen Freakshow if I married him."

"Little and Large."

"Precisely."

"You had your fingers crossed behind your back," Judson said, shaking his own finger at her.

"I'm not just here to be Flynn's errand boy, Judson," Clara said earnestly, "I think I'm here for a reason."

Judson just shrugged his shoulders, reminding Clara of Flynn for a moment, before realising he must have picked up the gesture from Judson.

"Flynn pays me in ancient gold drachmas and Christmas puddings," Clara snapped, starting to lose her temper. "If that's not a reason to seek a higher calling, I don't know what is."

"The drachmas will turn to dust as soon as you leave the Library," Judson said gently. "And as for the Christmas puddings, well... Flynn has a fondness for them."

Clara just scoffed.

"I'll have a word with him about your wages," Judson said hastily, not liking the look in her dark eyes.

Clara just nodded before getting up from the desk, ignoring its sigh of relief, and heading instead towards the boards Flynn had set up in the wake of the man's murder. None of his scribbles and symbols made any sense to her, and the papers pinned up remained resolutely blank. Of her own pictures, there were none. Flynn seemed to be focusing solely on the man's murder and not the murder attempt made on her own life. As Clara stared at his messy handwriting, she wondered uneasily if there was a connection between the killing and her, if the Serpent Brotherhood were involved in some way. The factor that linked both cases was Flynn, as though he were the catalyst which drew danger and death to whoever crossed his path, including Clara.

_Could it tremble stars from moonlit skies_  
_Could it drag a tear from your cold eyes_  
_I live on the right side, I sleep in the left_  
_That's why everything's got to be love or death..._


	7. The Changing Of The Guardian

**The Changing Of The Guardian**

_You say you wander your own land_  
_But when I think about it_  
_I don't see how you can _  
_You're aching, you're breaking_  
_And I can see the pain in your eyes_  
_Says everybody's changing_  
_And I don't know why..._

Clara flicked her feather duster over Flynn's broad shoulders, silently wondering at how they were always dusty, rather like the bookshelves he so frequently haunted. Then he was off again, flashing his foil for all it was worth, Excalibur going full pelt as well. Clara watched the mock sword-fight until the mis-matched pair disappeared out of sight behind some display cases, before resuming her dusting, jaw tightening. She worked her way down the length of the aisle, her thoughts unpleasantly elsewhere, only to stop short at the sight of _Insular Romance: Politics, Faith, and Culture in Anglo-Norman and Middle English Literature._

For a long time Clara stared at it, remembering the weight of it in her hands as she smashed it across Lamia's face. She had forgotten all about the book, assuming it lost in the ensuing chaos. Yet here it was, almost as if it was waiting for her. And the longer she looked at it, the more the uncomfortable feeling grew there was a message somewhere in its sudden reappearance.

She set down her feather duster and picked the book up instead, flicking thoughtfully through its pages. On that day, she'd been scared but still in control. She'd fought back instead of clinging to Flynn's leg. Was this what the Library was trying to tell her? That there was a spark of potential in her after all? She put the book back down, carefully closing it. She wasn't that Clara anymore, the one who mocked the idea of magic, who only imagined the impossible.

Clara had acted like a petulant child that day, throwing hissy fit after hissy fit at Flynn as though everything was his fault. But he'd tried to help her in his own heartless way, and she'd just flung it back in his face, along with the cream puff. So it was no wonder the Library had acted in the way it had towards her. But now things were different. Clara had changed and so had the Library's attitude towards her. Whether it was because Clara was no longer fighting her fate, but almost embracing it instead, Clara didn't know.

Picking up her feather duster again, she set off once more, brandishing it at the bookshelves, following the sound of Flynn's voice and the clanging of metal. As she rounded a corner, she suddenly froze. To her disbelief, the blonde woman from Berlin was in the Library, standing beside Charlene in front of a lift entrance Clara had never seen before. Just at that point, Flynn pirouetted into view, waving his foil like a fairy wand, Excalibur echoing his moves.

"You're getting sloppy, Cal!" Flynn taunted, doing another twirl.

The blonde woman stepped forwards, tilting her head to the side in disbelief. Clara stepped forwards as well, stashing her feather duster behind some books as she moved. But before she could do anything else, Excalibur suddenly sprung forwards, aiming right for the blonde's jugular, stopping short of slicing her head off.

"Don't move!" Clara cried, holding her hands out in front of her. "Don't do anything! Don't even breathe!"

"She's here to help, you stupid sword!" Charlene shouted, dashing down the steps, clutching a manila folder to her chest.

"But the blonde woman didn't listen. Instead, she tried to grab the handle of the sword, Clara crying out in alarm, Flynn barging past her as he rushed towards them, his face filled with rage.

"Don't touch him!" Flynn bellowed, making the blonde woman freeze. "He doesn't like being touched!"

The blonde woman just stared at him in disbelief, the sword quivering dangerously, its blade almost drawing blood now.

"When Excalibur gets angry, he gets really _angry_," Flynn said coldly, "and wounds caused by Excalibur never heal. They're _magic_."

"Flynn," Clara said, coming up the side of him, "Cal's going to cut her head off, so maybe you should something other than nag, hmmm?"

"I don't nag," Flynn protested.

"Just do something, please?" Clara said, hopping from one foot to the next.

"Cal, go on patrol," Flynn ordered, "I'll meet you in Ancient Egypt."

The sword flew off, the blonde woman slumping against a shelf in relief, only to leap back as it cursed her in Bavarian. Flynn just stared at her, his brow furrowing, Clara stepping in between them, sensing a storm starting.

"Umm, what are you doing here?" Clara asked the blonde.

But the blonde just ignored her, still staring at the shelf in shock.

Flynn rolled his eyes. "What _is_ she doing here?" Flynn asked Charlene abruptly, ripping the cravat off his head as he did so.

"Colonel Eve Baird, meet Flynn Carsen, the _Librarian_," Charlene said, looking smug. "Oh, and this is Clara," she added as an afterthought, "she's our... cleaner."

Eve just cast Clara an almost contemptuous look, all her attention focusing on Flynn instead, her eyes narrowing as they met his. "We've... we've met," Eve said, stuttering slightly despite herself. "That's... that's _Excalibur_, yeah?"

But nobody answered her, silence falling instead. Clara shifted uncomfortably on the spot, her eye being caught by the crisp white envelope in Eve's hand. Seeing her looking at it, Flynn glanced at it as well, only to do a double-take. Without any warning, he snatched it from Eve's fingers, making her leap backwards like a scalded cat. Clara was about to ask him what it was, but he mimed zipping his lips, shaking his head for good measure. Clara clamped her mouth shut, slightly put out.

As Flynn then tore open the letter, sniffing its paper like a bloodhound, making Charlene roll her eyes, Clara glanced at Eve, who was now staring at the direction Cal had taken off in, her face curious, eyes wide with almost wonder. Clara bit her lip, shifting uncomfortably on the spot. She didn't know if it was Eve's good looks or commanding air, but there was something about her that was setting Clara on edge, making her feel inferior and helpless in comparison. Back in Berlin, Clara had done nothing but hinder, whilst Eve had all but saved the day. Now she was here, making Clara want to go and hide in a cupboard somewhere.

"You'd end up in Narnia," Flynn said, startling Clara out of her reverie.

"How" -

\- "Only when you think about cupboards, Hartley," Flynn said, unperturbed.

"Never mind that," Eve said almost imperiously, stepping in front of Clara, "you call _Excalibur_... _Cal?_"

"We're friends, best friends, _besties_, really," Flynn said, almost squeeing like a fangirl.

Eve just looked at him like he was something nasty her shoe had just stood on. But again, Flynn just ignored her, barging past her as he crossed the floor to Charlene, brandishing the letter at her.

"Why would you send this to her?" he demanded, Clara flinching slightly at the force of his voice.

"I don't send the invitations, the Library does," Charlene said pettishly. "The Library sends the invitations" -

\- "Alright, the Library sends the invitations!" Clara snapped, flinging her hands up in the air. "We get the point!"

"You're just jealous you never got one," Charlene retorted. "You're not part of the party."

"What party?" Eve asked, bewildered now.

"There is no party," Flynn said, tying his cravat, "but there's been a mistake, and I think you should go, so good-bye, and don't come back."

Without another word, he grabbed Clara's hand and dragged her off between the book-shelves, leaving Eve standing on the steps, looking like an idiot. "Don't tell me what to do, Carsen!" Eve hollered, setting off after them.

"Oh, you are _perfect!_" Charlene said, almost weeping with joy.

* * *

"Why is she here?" Clara gasped as Flynn hauled her along.

"She's been chosen as my new Guardian," he said, not even out of breath.

"Your what?"

"Does as exactly as it says on the tin," Flynn spat. "She guards me."

"From what though?"

"From the bad guys, Hartley, the bogey men, the monsters that hide under your bed," Flynn snapped, "but I don't need a Guardian. Do you hear that?" he shouted up at the ceiling. "I don't need her! I'm fine!"

"Well, I need an answer," Eve said, stepping in front of them, halting them in their tracks.

"This is my answer," Flynn said smartly, letting go of Clara's hand before taking off again.

"Walking away quickly is not an answer!" Eve protested, following him, Clara trailing after her, feeling like a third wheel.

"How about this?" Flynn said, before slamming the doors to the library wing on her face.

"For God's sake!" Eve exploded, making to kick the doors open, only for Clara to grab her arm, halting her.

"Don't do that," Clara said nervously. "You'll damage them."

"I'll damage him for talking to me like that," Eve said dangerously.

"No, you won't," Clara said, crossing her arms over her chest. "You'll have to get through me first."

"What, are you his Guardian now?"

"No, but violence isn't the answer."

"It's always the answer."

Clara just shook her head, before turning and going into the library wing, Eve hard on her heels, only to stop, stunned by the vastness of the library wing, the sweeping staircase and soaring Grecian columns. Clara perched on the edge of Flynn's desk, ignoring its complaints, half wishing Eve would just leave. But the blonde strode forwards, shaking her head as though to clear it, before going over to where Flynn was checking his cravat in the mirror.

"If you won't deal with me, direct me to one of the other Librarians," Eve demanded, crossing her arms over her chest à la Clara.

"There are no other Librarians," Clara said quietly.

"I'm not talking to you, you're just a cleaner," Eve said, flapping a hand at her.

"She's not a cleaner," Flynn snapped, whirling around, "she's Hartley."

"I don't care what she is! Just direct me to someone who isn't you or her!"

"There are no other Librarians," Flynn reiterated, "there's only ever one Librarian and that's me. When I die, someone else will take my place. So good-day and good-bye."

Eve stared at him, confused. To Clara's own confusion, the blank canvas that stood behind Eve suddenly became a portrait of Judson. She stared at it as Eve continued to stare at Flynn, her head turning as he strode towards where Clara was sitting.

"Was Judson the Librarian before you?" Clara suddenly asked him, gesturing to the painting.

Flynn looked at her, and then he looked at the painting, before looking at Clara again. "What, you can see it, the portrait I mean?" he said, sounding nervous all of a sudden.

Clara nodded, confused.

"Why shouldn't she see it?" Eve asked, stepping forwards.

"What, you can see it too?" Flynn said, turning to her.

Eve nodded as well, looking at him as though he was mad, which he was.

"Was Judson a Librarian too?" Clara repeated, sliding off the edge of his desk.

"Judson, no," Flynn said, shaking his head, "he was more than that, he was... He found me. He... he trained me. He was there for me when... when my mother... when my mother..." Clara started towards him, only for Flynn to turn away from her. "He died five years ago," he said abruptly, making Clara retreat to the desk again. "That's all you need to know."

"I'm sorry," Clara said quietly, wishing she hadn't said anything.

"You should be," Flynn said cruelly. "I said no more questions, no more noseying. And what do you do at the slightest encouragement? You start sticking that snubby hooter of yours into my business!"

"Hey, don't talk to the girl like that," Eve interrupted, striding forwards. "She was just asking about your goddamn painting."

"It's Judson, not a goddamn painting!"

"I'm sorry for your loss," Eve said smartly, "but it doesn't give you the right to talk to her or me like we're pieces of crap, alright?"

"He's with us in spirit," Flynn said, changing the subject.

"That's nice," Eve said, sounding like she thought the opposite.

"No, I literally am here in spirit," Judson said from the depths of the mirror, making Eve whirl around, pulling out her gun as she did so.

"Hey!" Clara protested, rushing forwards. "Drop the gun!"

"It's alright, Clara," Judson reassured her. "The most she can do is break the mirror." He turned to Eve again. "Nice reflexes though," he said appreciatively, "you'll make a good Guardian."

"You're dead!?" Eve said in disbelief.

"It's easier than it looks," Judson said.

"Judson, what exactly is a Guardian?" Clara said curiously, stepping in front of the shellshocked Eve.

"It's like Flynn said," Judson said not a little impatiently, "a Guardian protects the Librarian. A bit like a bodyguard. You see a life of fighting evil cults and monsters" -

\- "Librarians tend to die - often," Flynn said, cutting across him. "Sometimes even more than once."

"Flynn's survived for ten years," Judson said, "longer than anyone. And most of it without a Guardian."

Clara stood there, Judson's words suddenly making several things fall into place. She turned to face Flynn, her brow furrowing. "Why didn't you tell me all this before?" Clara said. "Did you think I wouldn't understand?"

Flynn just turned away from her, his shoulders hunching. Eve lowered her gun, taking a step back from the mirror, still staring at it in disbelief.

"Like Charlene said, the flood-gates are opening," Judson said, "things are changing."

"Nothing's changed or changing," Flynn snapped as he whirled around.

"Being alone," Judson said pointedly to Clara, "has changed him."

"Everything's changed," Clara said slowly, "and it's still changing. Even me."

_So little time_  
_Try to understand that I'm_  
_Trying to make a move just to stay in the game_  
_I try to stay awake and remember my name_  
_But everybody's changing_  
_And I don't feel the same..._


	8. Many Are Called, Four Are Chosen

**Many Are Called, Four Are Chosen **

"This is too much," Eve said as Clara handed her a cup of Earl Grey.

"What, the tea?" Clara said, surprised.

"No, all this!" Eve exclaimed, wildly gesturing up at the vaulted ceiling. "Magic is _real? _A building sent me an envelope? I mean, come on!"

"You're only getting a taster of the madness," Clara said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, "I've got ninjas after me."

"Ninjas?"

Clara nodded.

"It's not just that though, the magic, the sentient building, the... the _ninjas_," Eve said, warming to her theme, "I already have a job. I hunt terrorists. I took an oath to protect innocent people" -

\- "To be a Guardian," Clara said, cutting across her. "It's just the same thing, isn't it?"

"There's only ever one Guardian in the whole world, Eve Baird," Judson said from behind them, making them turn around, "and the Library thinks it should be you."

"DO YOU MIND?" Flynn boomed from behind one of the boards. "I'm trying to solve a murder here."

Judson just shook his head at Clara, before fading into oblivion, making Eve splutter Earl Grey all over herself. Clara handed her a cloth before going over to where Flynn was, careful to keep a distance from him. Ever since she'd sat Eve down, making her a cup of tea, he'd become flamboyantly tetchy, casting Clara crippling glances designed to make her feel guilty over betraying him. But Flynn had a short memory. He hadn't wanted her here either, yet now he was expecting her to side with him against Eve, helping him expel her from the Library. But the Library had invited Eve here, so he didn't have a leg to stand on, least of all with Clara.

"Trying to solve a murder, hmm?" Clara said, raising an eyebrow. "How about a murder attempt?"

"What, you think I can't handle a homicide?" Flynn retorted.

"I'm thinking you're running before you can walk," Clara said, "which means by my book you're heading for a fall."

"Clarify, Clara."

"You can't even work out why these ninjas were trying to kill me," Clara clarified, "so what makes you think you can solve a murder?"

"What, the one in the foyer upstairs?" Eve asked as she came over to them.

"Yes," Flynn said curtly, "and good-bye!"

"So you're saying this Doctor Jonas Sheer" -

\- "Shaieeeeerrrrr" -

\- "Professor of Archaeology, with five PHDs was killed on your doorstep and you don't have a single lead?" Eve finished, her face disparaging.

"He has a lot of leads," Clara said, turning away, "but he doesn't know which one to follow. Before you came in, he was eeny, meeny, miny, moing it."

"Hey!" Flynn protested. "I have a plethora of possibilities! A cornucopia of clues! I just don't see how they all connect!"

"What painting is that?" Eve asked, pointing to a print-out pinned to the board.

"_The Crown of King Arthur_," Clara said before she could stop herself.

Flynn just looked at her as if she'd suggested said they should burn down the Library with him locked inside.

"What!?" Clara demanded, flinging her hands up in front of her. "Don't look at me like that!"

"He was trying to show me something before he died," Flynn said, advancing on her, "and that was the something!"

"What, that piece of paper you were hiding from me?" Clara said, putting two and two together.

"You hide paper from each other?" Eve said, frowning.

"Yes, we do," Flynn said pettishly.

"Don't let me disturb your fun-time, then," Eve muttered, turning away from them.

"He was here," Clara said, returning to the subject at hand, "the man that got murdered, he was here."

"So?" Flynn said, shrugging his shoulders.

"How did he know about the Library?"

"I don't know," Flynn said, frowning, "it's one of the best kept secrets in the world."

"Think, big boy," Clara said, standing on tip-toe and tapping him on the nose, "_how did he know?_"

"He was very clever," Flynn said slowly.

Clara just shook her head, giving up.

"Is it possible you dropped one of your special glowing envelopes by mistake?" Eve said sarcastically. "That maybe he found it and like a fool followed it here?"

"He was smart," Flynn said, his eyes becoming vague, "so smart that you sent him an envelope!?" he hollered at the ceiling, making Clara and Eve jump violently.

"The ceiling can't answer you," Eve pointed out, recovering herself.

"But the shelves can," Clara parried.

"The Ledger!" Flynn boomed. "The _Ledger!_"

* * *

"You. Are. _Vexing_," Flynn muttered as Eve fell into step beside him, vexing him even further.

"Oh, I like that word," Clara trilled, "vex, vexatious" -

\- "It's my word, _I_ own it," Flynn snapped, becoming distracted by the sway of her hips for a mad moment.

"You can't own a word," Clara protested.

"_I _can."

"Who cares? What the hell is the Ledger when it's at home?" Eve asked imperiously as Flynn flung himself at a book-shelf, randomly pulling books out and scattering them on the floor.

"When a Librarian dies, the Library doesn't just send out one letter," Flynn explained, nearly getting knocked out by a hard back copy of _The Essential Plato_, "it sends out hundreds, _hundreds, _to qualified replacements all over the world, and invites them in for interview."

"Many are called, one is chosen," Eve said, not sounding the slightest bit impressed.

"Precisely," Flynn said slowly, pulling out what looked like an old journal. He stared at its stained cover for a moment, before flipping it open and flicking through its pages, concentrating on the latter part of the Ledger.

"Professor Jonas Shaieeeeerrrrr," he intoned, glancing up at Clara and Eve with a glint in his eye, "with his five PHDs, he would certainly have been qualified."

"No shit, Sherlock," Clara said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"And no swearing in the Library!" Flynn admonished.

"Is he there?" Eve asked, snapping her fingers in front of Flynn's face, forcing him to focus. "Is he in this Ledger?"

"I'm checking, I'm checking," Flynn grumbled, glancing down at the pages again.

"How does the Ledger work?" Clara asked, curious. "Is it like an address book?"

"You have to sign in," Flynn said, his eyes scanning the page, Eve reading it over his shoulder," and yes he did. He's here. He said I wouldn't remember him, but he was here."

Silence.

"I know this name," Eve said suddenly, snatching the Ledger out of his hands, "Dr. Abraham Thomas."

"Hmm, Professor of Physics, Doctor of Medicines," Flynn said, not really caring, "spoke four languages and hey, let's throw a party!"

"I met Dr. Thomas at a NATO conference for bio-weapons," Eve said, her voice growing distant, "he died in a car accident last month."

For the next few minutes, Flynn and Eve checked the list of names against the Internet on Eve's phone, all of them coming up dead in a variety of accidents, Clara beginning to get bored with watching them. Then Flynn froze, his eyes widening almost in horror, backing away from Eve who remained oblivious, too caught up in ticking off her Who's Who of deceased academics.

"Somebody's killing potential Librarians," Eve said slowly, "but not all of them, just these top-ranked, top dozen or so..." She stared at the Ledger page for a long moment before flicking through her phone for another, her brow furrowing. "There's four left on the list," Eve said, glancing up at Clara, "with no death notices."

"How?" Clara asked, stepping forwards, frowning at Flynn who was staring at her as though she'd suddenly sprouted another head.

"They didn't turn up for the interview," Eve said, "Ezekiel Jones, Cassandra Cillian, Jacob Stone and Clara Hartley" -

\- "Excuse me?" Clara squeaked.

_Unsinkable ships sink__  
__Unbreakable walls break__  
__Sometimes the things you think would never happen__  
__Happen just like that__  
__Unbendable steel bends__  
__If the fury of the wind is unstoppable__  
__I've learned to never underestimate__  
__The impossible..._


	9. The Game Is Afoot

**The Game Is Afoot **

_Caught up in a mystery_  
_No one to attend_  
_Back in the beginning_  
_But she started at the end_  
_Blinded by a century_  
_Dodging any threat_  
_Pulled in all directions but it's too late to forget..._

Clara cleared away the tea-caddy and sugar-tongs, her hands shaking. After the bomb-shell Eve had dropped, Clara's world had retracted in on itself like a kaleidoscope, before rearranging itself in lines she didn't recognize.

"So you and Flynn," Eve asked in an undertone, "what's that about?"

"What do you mean?" Clara said, confused.

"Did you meet him online?" Eve said, confusing Clara even further.

"No, it was in Starbucks," Clara replied.

"Oh," Eve said, setting her teacup down, "it's just you meet all sorts of crackpots online, so I thought..."

"Me and Flynn, we're not together," Clara said, brow furrowing.

"Sorry, I just thought" -

\- "Don't think anything," Clara said, getting annoyed now.

"It's just I saw your dating profile," Eve explained, "and I assumed... well, I assumed wrong, didn't I?" she finished awkwardly.

"A dating profile is better than a death notice, isn't it?"

"I just didn't make the connection between Clara Hartley and you," Eve replied, "when it seems obvious now."

"Obviously."

Eve raised her eyebrows at Clara's tone.

"There are people trying to kill me and people trying to kill potential Librarians," Clara snapped. "My name is Clara and there's a Clara Hartley on their hit-list. But because Charlene said I was a cleaner, you completely ruled me out when a two year old could have made the connection."

Eve's jaw tightened, but she didn't say anything else, realising she couldn't.

"Why are you so interested in Flynn anyways?" Clara asked.

"I'm not interested in Flynn," Eve said abruptly, standing up, "I was just curious that's all."

"And curiosity killed the cat," Flynn said, appearing out of thin air.

* * *

Clara stepped through the doors of St. Francis Episcopal Hospital, trailing in Eve and Flynn's wake, feeling like a third wheel again. They were meant to be tracking down the other three potential Librarians, finding them before the Serpent Brotherhood did, but Clara wasn't exactly feeling the love from Eve and Flynn. As Clara tripped over a piece of loose linoleum, Eve and Flynn glared at her in unison, confirming her suspicions they just saw her as a burden they had to babysit, slowing them down and distracting them from their day job of saving the day.

Some medics suddenly rushed through the doors behind them, pushing a hospital trolley bearing an unconscious woman, her face slack, eyes shut. "Female, early twenties, collapsed at school, high temperature, BP 140 over 90, pulse 100, temp 102.5," one of the medics reeled off to a doctor as they moved, Clara stepping back to give them some space, Flynn and Eve not showing any such consideration. "Sudden high fever, sore joints, nausea and vomiting," the medic continued as more medical staff joined the procession, Flynn following them, ducking and diving, trying and failing to get a word in edgeways.

Rolling her eyes, Clara grabbed the back of his great-coat, hauling him back, making Flynn whirl on her as Eve followed the hospital trolley down the hall.

"What are you doing?" Flynn hissed, glancing at Eve's retreating back.

"What are _you _doing?" Clara hissed back.

"I'm sticking my rather big nose into a medical emergency," Flynn snapped, "that's what I'm doing!"

"You're creating an obstruction!"

"And you're creating a rather pretty picture in that outfit," Flynn said, suddenly flipping the charm switch on. "So why don't you stand over there so the rest of the world can appreciate your unearthly beauty" -

Clara grabbed his ear, and she grabbed it hard, dragging his face down to hers. "We are here for Cassandra Cillian," she said dangerously, "nothing else. Savvy?"

"Savvy," Flynn winced, Clara finally letting him go, the two of them turning around as the sound of raised voices filled the corridor, some sort of situation unfolding with one of the hospital janitors and the patient that had been brought in, the janitor's words running together in a way that made Clara take a step back in surprise.

\- "thesensitvitytolightbutyou'reignoringtheotherfactorstheotherfactorsshe'swearinganecklacethathasparrotfeathersshepickedupofftheground," the janitor gabbled, "it'shomemadethefeather'sfadingcommercialfeathersarepreservedagainstsunlightandultravioletlightultraviolet" -

\- "By Jove, she's right!" Flynn boomed, rushing to where the janitor was, the sceptical medical staff glancing up at him as he approached, Eve pulling a camera phone out of the patient's pocket as he drew level with her. "There are 914 species of bird in North America and this doesn't match" - he did a double-take at the bright yellow feather attached to the patient's necklace, before cawing like a parrot himself - "that's an African parrot feather!" he said in disbelief.

Eve held up the phone, showing the stunned medical personnel a picture of the patient with a parrot perched on her shoulder.

"Fine, let's go," the doctor suddenly snapped, bringing them all back to life. The janitor then hastily made her escape as they left, Clara following her, suspicious that this was the Cassandra Cillian they were looking for. If lunacy was one of the requirements for being a Librarian, Flynn had it in spades, but in terms of intelligence, it seemed Cassandra left him in the shade.

"Radiation, radiation," the janitor muttered as she collapsed down on a bench by the window, "radiation, the collision of matter" -

\- "Hi," Clara said, biting the bullet, making the young woman jump violently.

"Hi," the janitor said nervously, pushing a lock of crimson hair out of her pellucid blue eyes.

"Are... are you alright?" Clara asked in a rush, figuring she had to start somewhere before launching into the science fiction story that was the Library.

Instead of answering the question, the janitor stared at something in mid-air, her eyes dilating before clearing, a rush of equations escaping her lips, making Clara take a step back again.

"Do you always have this effect on people?" Flynn said, steering Clara out of the way, startling her.

"I think we found our Cassandra," Clara said, ignoring the insult.

"I'm sorry," Cassandra said to no-one in particular, "it'll stop in a second." Her pretty face suddenly lit up, changing it completely. "I smell peanuts this time," she said, glancing up at them all, "that's not bad."

"Wow," Flynn said, stooping down so he was eye-level with her, "auditory and sensory hallucinations that link memory retrieval. You're a synesthete?"

"Wow, yes," Cassandra echoed, "Hi!" she aimed at Eve, who returned the greeting, looking slightly startled at Cassandra's sudden perkiness.

"She has a photographic memory," Flynn explained as he stood up, "like mine."

"Okay..." Clara said slowly, thinking Flynn was flattering himself a little bit too much, "explain further, big boy."

"Her brain is cross-wired," Flynn said in an undertone, as though Cassandra wasn't there, "all five senses are linked to her memory," holding up five fingers to illustrate his point.

"Numbers are colours," Cassandra intoned, rocking back and forth now, "science is musical notes - when I do math, I smell things. It's mostly breakfast."

"That's nice," Clara said, slapping a smile on, "but you're in a lot of danger, Cassandra. You need to come with us."

"Are you the police?" Cassandra asked, confused and not a little suspicious.

"No, I'm the Librarian," Flynn said, stepping forwards, his face suddenly stern. "Go and get your coat."

* * *

"Ninjas in Oklahoma?" Clara said incredulously.

Flynn just nodded, eyes narrowing as he scanned the corridor ahead of them, studying each door in turn. Eve was gone, her disturbing presence no longer disturbing him. He'd reasoned if he couldn't get rid of Eve by force, he would get rid of her through other means. One tactic he was testing was by turning her into his gopher, assigning her the task of abducting Jacob Stone, as well as becoming Cassandra's unpaid bodyguard. Clara had been slightly confused by the abduction part but Flynn had explained Jacob Stone probably wouldn't be as pliable as Cassandra, hence why force was needed. The only problem was with Eve gone, he'd become saddled with Clara and her confusion instead, but Flynn had further reasoned he couldn't have his cake and eat it.

"Well, if you can get ninjas in Starbucks, why not Oklahoma?" Clara murmured to herself as she threaded her arm through Flynn's, letting him steer her towards the third door on the right.

"My heart belongs in Geneva," Flynn sighed as they found themselves in yet another corridor.

"Your heart belongs in your chest or you'd be dead," Clara pointed out practically.

"I was trying to be poetic," Flynn snapped.

"Stick to being a pain, it suits you better," Clara said pertly.

"Talking of suits, you haven't seen my white one," Flynn said, guiding her through yet another door. "It's _bedazzling_."

"How... lovely," Clara said uneasily, spying a set of glass display cases containing various artefacts, a young man almost window-shopping his way round them all.

"Stay here," Flynn whispered, shoving her behind a statue of Persephone.

Clara could only watch as Flynn ducked and dived his way through the display of display cases, doing a spectacular pirouette before disappearing from sight. As the young man then stopped in front of one particular exhibit, running his hands almost lovingly across the glass, another man came up from behind him, seemingly appearing out of thin air, his face blank, brow furrowed, hands folded in front of him.

Before Clara could blink, he suddenly pulled a dagger out from the inside of his suit, the young man whirling around, shocked, Clara frozen to the spot in horror. There was a sharp crackling sound like an electrical current, making the man with the dagger scream in agony, before slumping to the ground, Flynn popping up behind him like a Jack-In-The-Box.

The young man just looked at Flynn for a long moment. "Why was that security guard holding a dagger?" the young man then said, almost unperturbed as he gestured to the unconscious man.

"That wasn't a security guard," Flynn replied, "he was sent here to kill you."

"Hi, my name is Clara and can we go now, pretty please?" Clara said, throwing herself between them.

"I told you to stay there!" Flynn scolded, trying to detach her hand from his sleeve.

"You told me to stay _here_," Clara flung back, "and I'm _here_, so ha!"

Silence.

"You look like you could use a stiff drink," the young man then said, shoving a wad of crisp dollar bills into a startled Clara's hand, "here, have one on me."

"Ezekiel Jones," Flynn said almost admiringly as Clara looked at the money as though it was tainted.

"And I'm assuming you're _not_ here to kill me," Ezekiel said, rounding the side of the display case, "so tell you what. Watch my back for ten minutes and I'll cut you in on ten per cent."

Flynn just laughed rather disturbingly, disturbing Clara enough to finally let go of his sleeve.

"Don't I know you?" Ezekiel then asked Flynn, smirking slightly as he began to break into the display case.

Flynn assumed the air of a blushing maiden.

"I do _know _you," Ezekiel said, his eyes crinkling up in the corners in recognition, "you're that crazy Professor" -

\- "Librarian," Clara corrected him, clutching Flynn's sleeve again, "and you're stealing that jewelled dagger."

"Well observed, mademoiselle," Ezekiel mocked, "you'd give Sherlock Holmes a run for his money."

Clara glowered at him, making Ezekiel's smirk become a full-blown grin.

"But actually you're wrong," Ezekiel continued, searing a hole in the glass, "this is mine. I just left it locked in this display case on my way to work this morning."

"You're burning a hole in a room full of infra-red sensors," Flynn pointed out gently.

As if on cue, alarms started blaring. For a moment Ezekiel looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and then he was off, darting towards the nearest exit. Flynn took off after him, dragging Clara in his wake, scattering dollar bills as they went.

_Ride up in a mystery_  
_Voices in my head_  
_Asking for an answer but they question me instead_  
_Cover all that pretty sound_  
_Danger up ahead_  
_One more and you'll get it_  
_So I'll follow you instead..._


	10. Wish You Weren't Here

**Wish You Weren't Here**

"What's taking them so long?" Flynn muttered, making Clara roll her eyes.

Then the lift doors opened, revealing Eve and the others, Flynn stowing away his fob-watch at the sight of them. After delivering Ezekiel into Eve's protection, the thief joining Jacob and Cassandra in the safe house sourced for them by Charlene, Flynn had congratulated himself on a job well done, retreating to Rio to celebrate, leaving Clara to the uncomfortable confines of his couch instead. But now the fun and games were over, Flynn now having to face up to the responsibility of having four lives depending on his one.

As Eve led the other potential Librarians out of the lift, Cassandra nervously raised her hand to Clara, Clara waving back, trying to set the other girl at ease. Ezekiel favoured Clara with a brief nod, one she returned just as briefly, the cowboy beside him appraising Clara like she was a painting, raising his eyebrows in appreciation. Clara just tilted her chin, before smoothing down her skirt and turning on her heel.

"Where do you think you're going?" Flynn said, grabbing her arm, halting her in her tracks.

"I'm going to clean the display cases," Clara said, looking at him as if he was stupid. "I've done my meet and greet and now it's goodbye."

"Yes, goodbye to me," Flynn said abruptly, stunning her.

"What do you mean?" Clara whispered, something in her eyes striking Flynn through his frozen heart.

"You wanted me to work out why your life was being threatened," Flynn said dryly, covering up his guilt with coldness, "and this is me working it out."

"So you're just getting rid of me now?" Clara spat, tearing her arm out of his grip.

"Not quite," Flynn said, "but your place isn't with me, it's with them. You're all in the same boat now, so go and join the galley." He gestured to the others who were all shamelessly eavesdropping, Eve included, all too distracted by the domestics in front of them to notice the labyrinthine Library forming the backdrop to the fight.

Clara just stared at him, dark eyes filled with disbelief. Then her face hardened, and she stalked over to join the others, crossing her arms over her chest as she did so, turning to face Flynn with a defiant toss of her head. Flynn's jaw tightened, but other than that, he forced himself to appear unfazed.

"Hi," Cassandra said, reinforcing her earlier greeting.

"Hi," Clara replied, trying to hide her hurt.

"You have got to be kidding me!?" the cowboy exclaimed, startling them all.

As the others raised their heads, attention finally caught and held by the impossible interior, the cowboy took his chance and held out his slightly grubby hand to Clara. Clara raised her eyebrows, exuding disdain like a duchess at a low-brow dinner party.

"I don't think we've been introduced," the cowboy pressed, dropping his hand to his side, "m'name's Jacob, Jacob Stone."

"How delightful," Clara said sarcastically, her gaze finding Flynn's for a moment. They stared at one another, Clara's face suddenly vulnerable instead of fierce, and then Flynn looked away, pretending to become absorbed in a passing butterfly, both unaware Eve was watching this piece of by-play.

"Some place this," Jacob said, unperturbed.

"It's _amazing_," Cassandra said, gate-crashing the conversation.

"Is that the Arc of the Covenant?" Jacob called over to Flynn, making him turn around.

"Yes it is," Flynn suddenly beamed, suffused with the pride of a proud father over his offspring being admired.

Jacob clucked his tongue in admiration as he came down the steps, the others following him, Eve trailing behind, suddenly seeming unsure of herself. Clara glanced curiously at her, but Eve just straightened her shoulders, assuming her air of authority again.

"And is that a fairy?" Jacob asked, gesturing to the butterfly now fluttering away.

"Fairies don't exist," Clara snapped.

"What about Big-Foot and Dracula?" Cassandra chirped, skipping alongside Flynn as he led them down the aisle.

"Yes and no," Flynn said, "yes on Big-Foot."

"Is that the Spear of Destiny?" Ezekiel said, his eyes greedily devouring it.

"Yes and you'll keep your Fagin fingers off it please," Flynn intoned, wagging his own finger at Ezekiel.

"Vampires aren't real?" Eve asked sceptically, speaking up for the first time.

"Vampires are real," Flynn reproved, "but Dracula is not because I killed him, so ha!"

"Never mind that," Jacob said, brow furrowing slightly as Clara barged past him, clipping his elbow, "why are we here? Why are there ninjas trying to kill us?"

"Ten years ago, each of you received an envelope inviting you to apply for a position here at this Library," Eve said loftily, leading them past the book-shelves. "But none of you turned up."

"I was a school-girl ten years ago," Clara said, confused.

"Only seventeen, she is the dancing queen," Flynn sang off-key, sashaying round Clara, clicking imaginary castanets.

"You have an IQ of 290," Eve said, "so I guess that makes you about seventy in the Library's eyes."

"I was a child prodigy actually," Clara said with some pride, sidestepping Flynn.

"I have an IQ of 190," Jacob said, sounding hurt. "Does that make me less of a man?"

"It doesn't explain why she didn't get the letter though," Ezekiel said, frowning.

"My dad died that year," Clara said softly, "and we moved house. We moved a lot actually..." Her voice trailed off and she looked down at the ground instead, unable to bear the sight of their sympathetic faces.

"You can't outrun the past, Clara," Flynn said quietly, startling her. For a moment, they just stared at one another, and then Cassandra spoke up, looking as despondent as Clara felt.

"Ten years ago I was in a hospital," she said, running her fingers forlornly along the book spines.

"Tumour," Flynn said before he could stop himself. They all watched as he winced, a strange hissing noise emanating from his throat.

"Excuse me?" Cassandra squeaked.

Flynn slowed to a halt. "Synesthetes rarely have all five senses involved," Flynn explained uneasily, "and you've got full blown hallucinations and seizures indicative of a frontal lobe anomaly."

Cassandra started to shrink into herself under his scrutiny, a situation not helped by the others' shocked stares.

"How... big is it? The tumour I mean, that silly satsuma that's not in your medulla oblongata," Flynn asked awkwardly, Clara suddenly snapping and slapping him across the face.

"Why do you keep doing that!?" Flynn bellowed, clutching his cheek.

"Because you have the emotional range of a tea-spoon, that's why," Clara exploded, "and yes, I am quoting from Harry Potter!"

"Can I be your Ron, then?" Jacob interjected, Clara glaring at him, looking rather like Hermione for a moment.

"We're talking about her tumour here," Flynn said, put out.

"No. We. Are. Not," Clara said from between gritted teeth.

"It's okay," Cassandra said, shifting nervously from one foot to the next. "It's less satsuma and more grape-fruit, which I wish they hadn't told me because I used to really like grapes."

"Are you..." Ezekiel asked uneasily.

"Not yet," Cassandra almost but not quite snapped. "Someday though, sooner than I'd like. But not yet." She smiled hopefully at Jacob who tried and failed to smile encouragingly back. "But I've lived long enough to learn that magic exists," she chirped, "so that's pretty cool."

"Yes indeed," Flynn boomed over the echoes of 'pretty cool', before leading them in the direction of the library wing, anxious to drop the subject and escape Clara's death glares.

"Stone, why didn't you show up?" Eve boomed in turn, earning a look of praise from Flynn.

"I already had a job, family business," Jacob replied.

"I threw my letter out," Ezekiel added.

They all stopped to turn and look at him.

"It was obviously a mistake," Ezekiel said, shrugging his shoulders. "I steal stuff; I've been stealing stuff since I was a kid. I'm not going to get invited to work in a library."

"It's a magic library," Cassandra reproved.

"Yeah, great," Ezekiel said disparagingly, "it doesn't fill my pocket. I only came here to find out who's trying to kill me."

"That makes two of us," Clara said dourly.

"Better make it three," Jacob interjected, "Cassie's only here for the magic."

"Hot damn, I am!" Cassandra sang, earning a rare smile from Flynn. But as his eye caught Clara's, his smile faltered before fading.

_Caught in the riptide__  
__I was searching for the truth__  
__There was a reason__  
__I collided into you..._


	11. I Call It Magic

**I Call It Magic**

"If magic's real, how come we don't see it all the time?" Jacob asked as Flynn led them towards the library wing.

"Once upon a time, the world was filled with magic," Flynn intoned, flinging the doors open, "its energy travelling along a power network of ley-lines," he continued, snatching up a globe from his desk and flinging it up into the air, wherein it expanded into a 3D model of the Earth, a pattern of blue lines glowing along its surface. "Behold the magic, plebeians!" Flynn declared, clapping his hands together.

"But where's the magic now?" Jacob asked, confused.

"It's there," Ezekiel said, gesturing to the pattern of blue lines.

"Indiana's talking in the past tense, pal," Jacob said witheringly, "I'm talking about today."

"Over the centuries the magic was drained off and stored into artefacts," Flynn explained tersely as Clara crossed her arms over her chest.

"Like Excalibur?" Eve asked.

"Exactly," Flynn agreed, wishing Clara would ease up on the attitude. "He was one of the most powerful."

"He?" Cassandra squeaked, confused.

"The magic started to fade," Flynn continued as though she hadn't spoken, "as cities were constructed over the ley-lines, and technology began to advance, so as you can see," he gestured to the now fading blue lines, the 3D model of Earth shrinking in on itself, "there is now very little magic left."

"Where do you fit into all this?" Ezekiel asked.

"My job is to make sure what remains doesn't fall into the wrong hands," Flynn said, catching the globe as it fell back to the real Earth. "For example, the people who tried to kill the four of you," he said, slamming the globe down on the desk as he looked round them all, the desk protesting loudly, making all but Flynn and Clara jump.

"Did your desk just speak?" Jacob asked, bewildered.

"Is your ass really that big or is it just an illusion designed to dazzle the optics?" the desk retorted.

"I do not have a big ass," Jacob said, insulted.

"Let me be the judge of that," Flynn said, whipping out his measuring tape.

"I don't think so," Clara said hastily, snatching it out of his hand.

As Flynn fought to get the measuring tape back, Jacob breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "Thank you," Jacob mouthed, making Clara a small bow, hands clasped Mandarin style before him.

Clara just ignored him, chucking the measuring tape over her shoulder instead.

"Hey, that really hurt my feelings," Flynn said, pouting over the loss of his measuring tape.

"Now you know the feeling," Clara said quietly.

An awkward silence descended until Eve spoke up. "The woman who tried to kill Stone, she had a snake tattoo," Eve said suddenly. "And there were ninjas..." She turned to Clara as the penny dropped.

"The Serpent Brotherhood," Clara said before she could stop herself.

"The what?" Eve said.

"The Serpent Brotherhood are the ones who tried to kill me, ninjas and all," Clara said, realising she'd really put her foot in it, "and the woman is called Lamia."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Eve exploded, swelling up.

"He told me," Clara said, pointing at Flynn.

Eve just shook her head, throwing her hands up in the air.

"Again, you should have made the connection," Clara said pertly, "ninjas in Starbucks, ninjas in Oklahoma? Tsk-tsk."

"That's enough," Flynn admonished, silencing Clara.

"What is the Serpent Brotherhood?" Ezekiel asked, the others looking awkward.

"They're an ancient cult hell-bent on bringing magic back into the world," Flynn explained, "I fought them before."

"But what did Professor Sheer find to pressure them to kill him and then murder their way down the list?" Clara asked.

"Shaieeeeerrrrr, Hartley!" Flynn shouted. "It's _Shaieeeeerrrrr!_"

"And why don't you just _shhhhhhhut _up!?" Clara shouted, silencing Flynn this time.

"Uh, what did this Sh - this Professor guy find?" Jacob asked nervously.

"Still vexing," Flynn said in an undertone to Clara.

"You to a T," Clara hissed, snatching up the print-out of the painting she'd named as _The Crown of King Arthur_. "This is what the Professor was trying to show Flynn," she said clippedly, handing it to Jacob. "It must be connected to what he found, but what, I don't know."

Jacob studied the print-out. "It's _The Crown of King Arthur_," he muttered, brow furrowing.

"That's what I said," Clara said, crossing her arms over her chest again.

"Hidden in plain sight," Flynn whispered.

"That's not what she said," Cassandra said, exchanging a glance with Ezekiel.

"It's _The Crown of King Arthur_," Jacob repeated, albeit louder this time.

Flynn snatched the print-out from Jacob's fingers, glaring at him. "Are you sure?" he asked, looking like he was going to hit Jacob.

"Yeah," Jacob said, not looking impressed. "And I'm sure she's sure," he added, jerking his chin at Clara.

"The Crown was forged by Merlin," Clara explained, making everyone but Flynn look at her, "to give Arthur control over the magic they needed to build Camelot."

"How do you know that?" Flynn asked, still not looking at her.

"I read it somewhere," Clara shrugged. "I have a slight obsession with the subject."

"So it's the Crown they want?" Eve hazarded.

Clara looked confused for a moment before the penny dropped.

"Maybe _you _should have made the connection this time, sweetie," Eve said smugly, "especially with your middle name being Guinevere and all."

Clara turned red, her face fuming, much to Eve's amusement.

"The Crown is real, like really real?" Cassandra asked, blue eyes shining.

"Really, really," Flynn said.

"And they really want the Crown then?" Ezekiel said.

"Yes, they do," Flynn said, rolling his eyes.

"Sound like my kind of people," Ezekiel said, Cassandra elbowing him in the side.

"So the Brotherhood wants to bring magic back but they need the Crown to control it?" Eve said slowly. "Cannot believe I just said that with a straight face," she added in an undertone, face disbelieving.

"Um, why is bringing magic back bad?" Cassandra asked, holding her hand up like she was in a classroom. "Because magic seems pretty cool."

"It is... cool," Flynn said carefully, "until warring nations drown each other in tidal waves of blood." Clara glanced at Flynn, something in his statement hitting home. "Or they use dragons to burn cities to the ground," Flynn continued, his voice increasing in volume, "or they harness Medusa's power to turn enemies into stone - a world of magic is a world full of chaos and suffering."

Silence.

"I will begin," Flynn then began, faltering as Jacob gently took the print-out of the painting from his fingers. Flynn just looked at him before snatching it back.

Jacob glanced round them all, mouthing _meow!_ much to Clara's reluctant amusement.

"Why don't you pour me a bowl of milk while you're at it, Clint?" Flynn said coldly, making Jacob look away.

"Ummm, maybe you should begin by examining the original painting," Clara said hastily, anxious to avert another fight. Two warring nations were enough without adding a third to the fray.

"That's precisely what I was going to say, my dear Clara," Flynn said with a pained smile.

"It's by an unknown artist," Jacob said.

Clara shrugged her shoulders, not getting his point.

"I don't know where that name's at," Jacob said, getting annoyed now.

"Munich Museum of History and Art," Ezekiel said suddenly.

They all looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"I cased the joint last month for a heist," Ezekiel said, being the one to shrug this time, "memorized the inventory."

"That's why the four of you were targeted," Eve exclaimed, startling them all, "while you were busy doing whatever Librarians do," she said to Flynn, flapping her hand at him -

\- "Saving the world - a lot," Flynn said, puffing out his chest -

\- "and they," Eve said, waving her hand at Clara and the others as though Flynn hadn't spoken, "the other Librarians" -

\- "They're not Librarians," Flynn protested, "I'm the only Librarian" -

\- "they're the people most likely to locate the Crown," Eve said, on a roll now. "The Brotherhood were just trying to wipe out the competition."

"Well done, sweetie," Clara said sarcastically.

Eve made her a mock bow.

"Well, I say we should beat them to it," Jacob said, cracking his knuckles threateningly.

"Yeah, let's kick some Brotherhood butt," Clara said, rolling her eyes.

"Fair enough," Ezekiel agreed with a devil-may-care grin. "No-one tries to stab Ezekiel Jones in the back without Ezekiel Jones returning the favour."

"I've never been to Europe, so..." Cassandra said, smiling shyly, grabbing the straps of her floral backpack almost for support.

"No, no, _no_, " Flynn said, shaking his head.

"Why not?" Jacob said dangerously.

"First things first," Flynn said, holding up a finger, "let's not refer to ourselves in the third person. Plus there is going to be no beating or butt kicking, Europe is overrated and I work alone. So if you'll excuse me, goodbye," he said abruptly, heading for the doors.

"Nuh-uh," Eve said, striding forwards, "I got an envelope."

"So did I," Flynn said, unflustered.

"We all did," Clara pointed out helpfully. "Sort of," she amended, thinking of her own lost envelope.

Eve's jaw tightened. "The Library invited _me _to_ this_ party and I'm taking _them _to Munich," Eve said, gesturing to Clara and the others. "Maybe we'll see you there," she finished, folding her arms across her chest.

Flynn just frowned.

"Try to keep up," Eve said with a sarcastic smile, before patting him on the shoulder as she left, the others hastily following her.

_Call it magic_  
_Cut me into two_  
_And with all your magic_  
_I disappear from view…_


	12. Learn Flynnish In Four Easy Lessons

**Learn Flynnish In Four Easy Lessons**

"So why are we looking for a British crown in a German museum?" Ezekiel asked as they headed towards the museum, the sun beating down on their heads.

"Don't ask me," Clara muttered.

"Sorry I asked," Ezekiel said, exchanging glances with Cassandra and Jacob.

Nothing more was said until they were in the museum, Flynn trying in vain to locate the original painting amongst those on display. As he turned wildly on the spot, he nearly knocked Clara over, Flynn hastily catching her by the elbow. They stared at one another before Flynn let go of her arm as though he'd been burned. Then he caught sight of the painting through the crowd, his face lighting up with glee.

"Oh, hello," he cooed, making a beeline for it, the others trailing in his wake, leaving Eve standing on guard. Forming a line, they then stood in front of the painting for several moments, heads tilted to the side, Flynn trying and failing to look intellectual.

"Don't stand there looking like you're working up the nerve to ask it to dance," Clara hissed to him, "figure it out for chrissake!"

"I am _trying_," Flynn said from between gritted teeth, ignoring Eve's own loud hiss of _Flynn! _from somewhere behind his back.

"Alright, troops," Clara said, rallying them all, "what do we know about this sweet slice of Arthurian abstraction?"

"It's of a crown," Cassandra said helpfully.

"Artist unknown, painted in 1146," Ezekiel added, squinting slightly, "installed as one of the original pieces in the museum in 1546."

"You're just reading the notice," Clara said, throwing her hands up into the air.

Flynn just shook his head, Jacob sidling over to Clara, his face thoughtful.

"Look at the swords of the knights," Jacob whispered in Clara's ear, "they're Roman short swords."

Clara looked at him, then the painting, then Jacob again. "Arthur's a legionnaire?" Clara said sceptically.

"It's the Roman hypothesis," Jacob explained.

"What, when the Roman Empire fell, the Roman legions stationed in Britain stayed behind?" Clara hazarded.

Jacob nodded.

"Camelot as a city," Clara said slowly. "Caliban merely another name for Excalibur."

"Armoured warriors and legionnaires, it all fits," Jacob smiled.

"Well, aren't you two the dream team?" Flynn said sarcastically.

"What, like you and Eve?" Clara spat.

"Me and Eve?" Flynn said, confused.

"I think she's taken a bit of a shine to you, big boy," Clara said, crossing her arms over her chest. "You better get your best courting cravat ready for action."

Flynn just scowled at her.

"So Arthur's a Roman?" Ezekiel said, looking unconvinced.

"Looks like it," Cassandra replied.

"There's only one problem," Jacob said dourly, "the painting's a fake."

* * *

Clara leaned against the wall, listening to them all argue about carmine, binary codes and security protocols. Amidst the chaos, Flynn started flapping his hands like a chicken, throwing himself into the fray and silencing them all with his stern face.

"It's like listening to the inside of my own head," he snapped, looking like a cantankerous old man for a moment, "except _louder_."

"But the binary" -

\- "The painting is a fake!"

"And it can't be moved!"

"Alright!" Clara bellowed, stepping forwards. "The painting is a fake! We get your point, my palomino prince!" she fired at Jacob, making him wince. "And as for the binary code, it's obviously a message, Archimedes!" she aimed at Cassandra. "The frame can't be moved because the frame's location in this museum must be important, John Dillinger," she slung at Ezekiel, "so where does that leave us now, Librarian?" she finished on, turning to Flynn.

"It leaves us choking on the dust left in the wake of your frantic speed of thought," Flynn said coldly.

"Whatever," Clara said, rolling her eyes. "Let's start with the code," she said, then turning to Cassandra, "what else have you got on that?"

"You're a control freak and it's a co-ordinate code," Cassandra smiled prettily, "leading us somewhere that requires a key, some sort of reference point."

"Like a fixed point in space and time?" Clara hazarded.

"Way to go, Doctor Who," Ezekiel muttered, put out by Clara's pulverising personality.

"Nerd," Jacob muttered.

"It's a fixed point," Clara repeated, glaring at the guys.

"Like a painting that can't be moved?" Flynn said suddenly, before performing a perfect pirouette.

"If that was meant to illustrate your point, you failed, epically," Clara said.

"Margot Fonteyn admired my high instep," Flynn said pettishly, "said it was the mark of a true aristocrat."

"Tell us about this key," Clara said hastily, turning to Cassandra again.

"The entire museum is the key," Cassandra said, her hands now shaking with excitement, "the dimensions to the floors and the rooms, they relate to where the painting is - that's the key to the code!"

"Leading where?" Ezekiel asked, his eyes lighting up with greed.

"Let's find out," Flynn said lightly.

* * *

They all ran towards the sun-dial, Clara's high-heeled brogues nearly breaking her neck. As she slumped against the sun-dial, Flynn started translating the Latin inscribed on its stone surface, muttering manically about great woods and Celts. Clara glanced up as Eve appeared out of nowhere, blonde hair slightly mussed, a button missing from her black jacket.

"Problems?" Clara asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Eve parried.

"The Crown of King Arthur is real," Flynn said slowly, straightening up.

"Duh," Ezekiel said, everyone ignoring him.

"Where is it?" Jacob asked, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun with his hand.

"It's buried in the Black Forest," Flynn said, sounding uneasy. Then he did a double-take when he clocked Eve by his elbow. "Where have you been?" he said pompously. "Some very exciting stuff's going on here." Then he sauntered off, leaving an annoyed Eve standing in his wake.

"I think that's Flynnish for 'I missed you'," Clara said in a loud whisper, making Eve glare at her.

"Come on, troops!" Flynn hollered, waving his hand at them. "Carpe diem!"

"And I guess that's Flynnish for get your asses into gear," Eve said darkly.

_Carpe diem, a battle cry__  
__Are we all too young to die?__  
__Ask a reason and no reply__  
__Are we all too young to die?_

_Making a living__  
__Making a killing__  
__What's worth forgiving?__  
_


	13. Leontopodium Alpinum

**Leontopodium Alpinum**

"Whoa, stop here!" Flynn bellowed.

Clara braked sharply, throwing everybody forwards in their seats, Flynn nearly flying out of the jeep window he was leaning half out of. Clara seized his coat-tails, yanking him back, rather like a kite. Everyone took this as a signal to vacate the Land-Rover, Cassandra hanging back, her pretty face petulant.

"What's wrong?" Clara asked, wrapping her arms around herself, wishing she'd thought to bring a cardigan.

"I think we should stop to snack and hydrate," Cassandra said, swinging her floral backpack off her shoulder. "I packed some sandwiches with cucumbers and crackers, which are delicious with prosciutto."

"People are trying to kill us and you brought a picnic?" Clara said sarcastically.

"Hey," Jacob intervened, "we're on an adventure, lighten up."

Clara pulled a face, looking uncannily like Flynn for a moment. Then a helicopter suddenly soared overhead, making them all glance up.

"The Serpent Brotherhood," Flynn said darkly.

"They have a helicopter?" Eve asked as she stood by Flynn's side, something Clara noticed Eve seemed to be making a habit of.

"Yeah," Flynn said abruptly.

"Why don't we have a helicopter?"

"Because we have a Charlene," Flynn said, taking off like a helicopter himself, Eve and the others following him, "although we approved the budget for one rental car" -

\- "Bollocks!" Clara cried, the world suddenly tipping sideways.

"Whoa!" Ezekiel echoed, grabbing her arm.

"Watch out for errant rabbit holes!" Flynn called as he galloped ahead.

Shaking his head, Ezekiel then hauled Clara free, Cassandra clasping her hands together in concern. Rolling her eyes, Eve shepherded them forwards, casting an askance glance at Clara's heels as she did so. They trailed after Flynn, clustering close together, the forest suddenly becoming less fairytale and more threatening, unnerving even the usually stalwart Eve. Clara limped on, refusing Jacob's offer of his arm to lean on.

"Flynn, get back here!" Eve shouted, forcing him to a faltering stop.

As Flynn fell into step with them, he glanced over his shoulder at Clara, looking worried at seeing her limping, Clara casting him a contemptuous glance that quickly cut off his concern.

"You had problems at the museum?" Flynn then asked Eve, deliberately ignoring Clara.

Eve looked at him in surprise, realising he had registered her presence after all back at the sundial. "I dealt with it, don't worry," she said quietly.

Flynn just nodded, plucking a leaf off a passing branch.

"You and I... we kinda have the same job," Eve began uneasily, making Flynn look at her this time. "You know, running around the world and finding dangerous objects," she explained in response to his querying glance.

"It's important work," Flynn said almost absentmindedly.

"Which is why he has to stay focused," Clara called from behind them.

"I'm completely focused on my job," Flynn echoed even as he ignored Clara. "You might even say I'm married to it."

"I'm the same," Eve said slowly, "when I go home, I just focus on the next job, if people get in the way, boom, they're gone. I don't mean I kill them," she added hastily, "I just let them fall by the wayside, friends, family..." her voice faded into nothing, her face falling slightly.

Flynn looked away, understanding all too well.

"You know," Eve said quietly, slowing to an almost stop, "you're not nearly as weird as I thought you were back in Berlin."

Flynn looked slightly wrongfooted, his hand flying unthinkingly to his cravat.

"Wrong one, big boy," Clara called out merrily.

"Wrong what?" Eve said, confused.

Flynn didn't care to enlighten Eve on his courting cravat collection. "Well," he said awkwardly, tugging at an earlobe, "I think you're... you're..." his gaze focused on the middle distance, eyes becoming vague, "you're a henge," he finished, before bolting.

* * *

_Maybe I'm a mad man__  
__Maybe I'm a bad, bad, bad, bad man__  
__But you won't see a sad man__  
__When you're looking at me..._

Clara slowed to a stop at the tree-line, watching as Flynn ran towards the henge with his arms outstretched, almost like he was going to embrace the medieval monument. There was something very Julie Andrews about him in that moment. Any second now Clara half expected him to burst out into song, maybe some Edelweiss to end the tedium. Eve went after him, acting more Grand Baby-Sitter than Guardian, Clara and the others trailing morosely after her.

"This is a henge?" Eve asked uneasily, rounding one of the piled up pieces of rock.

"This is more than a henge, my unearthly Eve!" Flynn trilled, skipping around the stones. "This is completely unheard of in this part of the world!"

"Is this the second clue, then?" Cassandra hazarded, setting her floral backpack down on the grass.

"Yes, to the burial place of the Crown," Flynn said, licking his finger and holding it up, trying to gauge the temperature of next Tuesday.

The helicopter soared overhead again, making them all glance up once more.

"You solve this and I'll go stall them," Eve said quickly.

Flynn shook his head.

"I'm your Guardian," Eve said, rolling her eyes.

"You're not my Guardian," Flynn reiterated, "but take Ezekiel with you."

Rolling her eyes again, Eve grabbed Ezekiel by the collar and hauled him away, much to his very loud annoyance.

"Alright, troops," Flynn said, clapping his hands together, "let's hit those high notes!"

Ignoring him, Clara limped over to a symbol engraved on one of the rocks, her eye caught by its design. "Astrological symbology," she said slowly, tracing its pattern with her fingertip.

"It's Latin," Jacob interjected, gesturing to the accompanying inscription.

"When the sun passes through, upon the fourth day after Solstice," Clara translated, earning an approving glance from Jacob.

"It's like Stonehenge," Flynn said, rounding the rocks.

"Obviously," Clara muttered.

"Light only comes through certain openings," Flynn continued, still ignoring Clara, "at certain hours on certain days. In fact, there's only one day a year you can read it. And that day... is not today," he finished, looking put out.

"We can recreate the sun's path," Clara said, trying to make him acknowledge her presence.

"We could triangulate each position," Flynn said, sitting down on an upturned stone, turning his back on her, "but it would take months to do that kind of math."

"It would take a while," Jacob said dourly.

"It wouldn't take me a while," Cassandra said, speaking up, making everyone look at her.


	14. A Bucket For A Crown

**A Bucket For A Crown**

After Cassandra had worked out the riddle of the rocks, nearly killing herself in the process, Flynn had hit one of the stones with the heel of his hand, revealing some sort of medieval safe concealed within its hard hollow. Clara stood staring at it, head spinning at everything that had just happened in the past five minutes. If she'd thought she was clever, she was nothing next to Cassandra. Clara had just remained rooted to the spot as Cassandra had reeled off data like she was some sort of human computer, Jacob stepping up and helping Cassandra focus when her mind went into freefall.

"We need a blow-torch," Jacob observed, his brow furrowing.

"Don't suppose you packed one of those, did you?" Clara asked Flynn, finally making him look at her.

"Actually, Cassandra did," Flynn said slowly, confusing everyone.

"Huh?" Cassandra asked, the most confused of all.

"In the truck," Flynn explained, "there's an oxygen tank and a First-Aid kit."

Again, confusion reigned.

"Go and round them up, cowboy," Flynn fired at Jacob, who promptly took off like a boomerang, too bewildered to challenge Flynn's order. "Idiot," Flynn then muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes as Jacob fell over his feet, almost landing flat on his face.

"He might be Southern, but he's not stupid," Clara said irritably.

"Never said he was."

"You just called him an idiot!"

"You might feel some fondness for our resident bronco-buster, but the rest of us don't," Flynn said, looking bored.

"I like him," Cassandra chirped. "He would carry off a Stetson very well."

"I'd look _hot_ in a Stetson and a pair of Daisy Dukes," Flynn said, pluming himself. "Yee-haw!"

"This isn't Rawhide," Clara snapped.

"Whatever," Flynn said, flapping his hand at her, "I don't care what you say; I'd definitely give Jessica Simpson a run for her money."

* * *

Cassandra watched wide-eyed as Flynn finished putting the finishing touches to his culinary creation, almost absentmindedly popping a cracker into her mouth, her loud crunching getting on Clara's last nerve.

"Wow, a cutting tool that is both effective and delicious," Clara said sarcastically, as Flynn then handed Jacob the cucumber-cum-blow-torch.

"Bacon would have been better," Flynn said, getting to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Jacob asked, confused.

"I'm going to get the rest of our gang," Flynn said, "and you fantastic three are going to get that crown."

"No pressure then," Jacob muttered, eying the medieval safe with some trepidation.

"So stay put, my little Munchkins," Flynn said. "It isn't over until the fat lady sings." And then he was gone, leaving the others blinking in bewilderment.

"That guy is nuts," Jacob said, shaking his head to himself.

"You don't think?" Clara said, rolling her eyes.

"He did just construct a cutting torch out of a picnic lunch," Cassandra said mildly.

"Which proves my point exactly," Jacob said darkly.

* * *

_But sometimes the money's gonna run out_  
_And you'll be standing on the corner with a belly full of doubt_  
_Sometimes somebody's gonna bring you down_  
_And you'll be standing on your own with a bucket for a crown..._

"Imagine we had eyes in our ankles," Cassandra said, "then we could look inside mouse-holes without having to bend down."

"Focus, Cassie, focus," Jacob said, aiming the blue-white flame at the hinges.

"More like you should focus," Clara pointed out.

"I am, sweetheart," Jacob said, "but you're distracting me in more ways than one." His gaze flickered over her, taking her in from top to toe, making Clara turn away from him, folding her arms across her chest.

"I'm getting a teeny-weeny bit worried about the others," Cassandra said, nibbling on a cracker.

"You don't seem very worried," Clara snapped.

"Well, I am," Cassandra protested.

"I'll go and check, alright," Clara said, grateful to have an excuse to be alone.

"Flynn told us to stay here," Jacob said, standing up.

"And he told you to get that goddamn crown," Clara retorted, "so goddamn get it."

"Flynn's a big boy, he doesn't need you to babysit him," Jacob said, "he's got Eve for that."

Clara just shook her head and limped towards the trees, ignoring Cassandra's cries for her to stop. She was tired of standing there like she was a henge herself. She wanted to do something, to prove to herself that she _was _Librarian material. So far all she'd done was get stuck in a rabbit hole and translate some obscure Latin. It wasn't exactly the Ten Labours of Hercules.

As she made her way through the forest, following the sound of shouting, nearly ending up in a ditch as she did so, she then emerged from the tree-line, just in time to see Ezekiel get knocked sprawling to the ground. Limping forwards, she hastily snatched up a tree branch, creeping up behind and hitting his assailant over the head with it, reeling slightly as she did so.

"Wow," she said breathlessly, helping Ezekiel to his feet, "that certainly beats the Times crossword."

"Where the hell did you come from?" Ezekiel gasped, brushing himself down.

Clara pointed to the trees behind them.

"You Tarzan, me Jane?" Ezekiel said doubtfully, stooping down to pick up his lost crowbar.

"I meant the henge," Clara said, rolling her eyes, "the others found out where the crown was" -

The world suddenly went sideways, Clara colliding with damp earth, Ezekiel landing somewhere to the south of her. For a moment, nothing made sense, the sky spinning above her, and then reality righted itself, Clara trying and failing to find her tree-branch as a shadow fell across her.

"Oh, it's the one that got away," Lamia said, looming over Clara, twirling her sword like she was a majorette.

"Watch, you'll have someone's eye out with that," Ezekiel groaned.

"Shut up," Lamia snapped. "I'll be despatching you in a moment."

"The Princess of Parcelforce," Clara intoned, "delivering and despatching despots since 112 AD."

"Famous last words, little one," Lamia snarled, raising her sword like an axe -

\- "Sorry to disturb the execution," Flynn said apologetically, "but can you tell me where Arcadia ends and Scheol begins?"

"Why are you always in the way!?" Lamia screeched, launching herself at Flynn.

"Because you have such a magnetic personality," Flynn said, sidestepping her.

"Flynn, catch!" Ezekiel cried, chucking his crowbar.

Flynn neatly caught it, before performing a minuet and parrying Lamia's sword aside as though it part of the dance.

"Nice fleuret," Clara observed weakly as Ezekiel hauled her to her feet.

"Thank you," Flynn bowed, deflecting another sword blow, "but I prefer performing the nautch. Preferably while fire-eating."

"We don't want to be here," Ezekiel called, running past them, leaving Clara to her own fate as he disappeared among the trees.

Flynn looked at Clara for enlightenment, but she just shook her head, looking as confused as Lamia.

"It's time to go!" Eve bellowed, appearing out of nowhere and grabbing Flynn and Clara by both elbows, dragging them along.

"I can't run!" Clara cried, almost falling to her knees.

Rolling his eyes, Flynn shoved Eve on, before almost rugby-tackling Clara and slinging her over his shoulder. Before she could protest, she was up and away, tree-branches catching at her clothes and hair, the world whizzing past her. An explosion rocked the forest, sending them staggering, but they kept on, heading back to the henge, Ezekiel and Eve leading the way.

"The stone, how's it going!?" Flynn boomed, clumsily setting Clara down on the grass.

"We're done," Jacob said, looking slightly taken aback at their frazzled appearance.

"What was that big bang?" Cassandra asked disingenuously.

"It was me," Ezekiel said, striking a heroic pose.

"It was Jacob sitting down," Flynn said, twirling his crowbar, "remember, he has a huge ass."

"Just get the goddamn safe open," Eve snapped, glancing agitatedly over her shoulder.

"Your wish is not my command," Flynn said tersely, kneeling down in front of the safe.

They all watched as he levered it open, Cassandra passing Clara a cracker, both of them holding their breath as Flynn took out a burnished silver crown, his face inscrutable in the fading light.

"Congratulations," he said almost in disbelief, "you've all just did something no Librarian has been able to do in a thousand years." He raised his reverent gaze to theirs. "You just found the Crown of King Arthur."


	15. Snakes And Ladders

**Snakes And Ladders**

"Not bad for their" -

\- "only" -

\- "first time out," Charlene said, looking reprovingly over the top of her tortoiseshell glasses at Flynn.

Flynn scowled at Charlene, still annoyed at her attempts to drag him back into the wider world. She didn't understand what it meant to be the Librarian, the losses and the loneliness, the long nights and empty days. Without thinking, Clara reached out to touch the Crown, her heart beating fast in her chest. Her obsession with King Arthur was something she tried to keep hidden, repressed even, but in the face of being confronted with his Crown, Clara couldn't contain herself anymore.

"Hey!" Flynn admonished, slapping her hand aside. "Don't touch! You'll die! Especially with a middle name like yours!"

"What is your middle name?" Ezekiel asked curiously.

"It's Guinevere," Clara said, brow furrowing, "you should know that by now."

"Hey, if I can't steal it, I'm not interested," Ezekiel said, shrugging his shoulders. "If it's not nailed down, I'm gone."

"And anyways," Flynn said, frowning at them, "that was a job well done, so... well done!"

They all looked at each other, Jacob catching Clara's eye, making her look away.

"Flynn, what did you do on your first time out?" Cassandra asked curiously.

"I... I recovered the Spear of Destiny," Flynn said uncomfortably."And discovered the real meaning of cheese triangles."

"Now you're just showing off," Jacob said, folding his arms.

"I'm just getting started," Flynn parried.

* * *

"Clara?" Flynn asked, making her turn around.

"What is it?" she said uneasily. She'd hidden herself in the Reference section, figuring nobody would figure out where she was, but she'd obviously underestimated Flynn's finding abilities.

"I've got something for that ankle of yours," he said, holding up a cobalt blue decanter.

"Is that magic medicine?" Clara asked sceptically.

"I'm afraid so," Flynn said, indicating for her to take a seat on the stone bench.

Against her will, Clara sat down. As Flynn kneeled down in front of her, Clara's gaze drifted over his irregular features and broad shoulders, wondering at the sheer impossibility of him, how it could have been her in his place. Flynn glanced up, catching her eye, making her hastily look away.

"One little dab and Bob's your uncle," Flynn said offhandedly, averting his face.

"I did have an uncle called Bob, actually," Clara said, wincing as his large hand steadied her ankle.

"Really?"

"Really, really," Clara said sarcastically, watching as he unstoppered the decanter, pouring some of the electric blue liquid over her bare skin, a sickly smelling mist enveloping her ankle.

"There you go, all done," Flynn said, getting up.

"Wait," Clara said, stopping him, "can't you do something for Cassie?"

Flynn looked at her for a long moment, before sitting down on the bench beside her, rearranging his long limbs accordingly. "With magic, it's possible," Flynn said, sighing heavily, "but cheating death comes at a price. In the end, I'm not sure it's really worth it."

Clara nodded, something in her stricken face stabbing Flynn through his frozen heart.

"I never wanted this life for you, Clara," he said quietly, taking her hand, Clara tensing up even as she let him take it, "I never did and I never will."

"But that's just it, Flynn," she said tersely, "whether you like it or not, this is my life, Library and all."

"You could die, Clara," Flynn snapped, "this is life and death, not snakes and ladders!"

"But isn't it all just the same thing?" Clara argued. "Isn't snakes and ladders just a metaphor for life and death, your fate decided by the roll of a dice?"

"Philosophy and board games are two separate things," Flynn retorted. "Your destiny isn't dictated by chance."

"No, it's dictated by choice," Clara said, snatching her hand from his, "and it's my choice, not yours."

"But you don't have a choice!" Flynn exclaimed. "It's the Library that chooses, not you, and it chose you! It's like Jumanji on a giant scale, it decides for you, there and then, no going back, and you were the first, Clara, and I don't want to see you become the last - I know there are the others but you were the first and I don't want to lose all that I have left, and I'm rambling now, good-bye and good-night!"

"Wait," Clara said again, taken aback.

"What is it?" Flynn said, not meeting her eyes.

"If I'm - we're the last candidates; does one of us become the Librarian if you die?" Clara asked, confused.

"That's the rules of the game," Flynn said formally.

"But what about us?" Clara said, confusing herself even further.

"There is no us," Flynn said, "and this is over."

As he turned to leave her, an alarm went off, startling them both.

"What the hell is that?" Clara asked, getting to her feet.

"We installed a new security system," Flynn said, hastily setting the decanter down on a Danish dictionary, "after the last break-in."

"So we're now in the middle of a heist!?"

"The fun never stops!" Flynn boomed before taking off like a boomerang.

"So how long will it take for them to get past the elevator?" Clara called, running after him.

"The elevator is actually a magic portal," Flynn called over his shoulder, "and it's been disabled from the inside. Somebody's let them in."

Clara slowed to a halt. "Somebody's sold us out?" she said in disbelief.

Flynn faltered to a stop. "I'm afraid so," he said gravely, advancing on her.

"Hey, it wasn't me!" Clara protested, looking at him like he was mad.

"Why were you hiding in the Reference section, then?" Flynn countered. "Were you keeping a low profile, hunkering down until the storm had passed" -

Clara slapped him, hard.

"Oh, Hartley, how I've missed you!" Flynn cried, before pulling her to him, his mouth crushing hers.

For several long moments, all Clara knew was the sound of cymbals crashing together in her skull, her fingers becoming entangled in Flynn's dark hair. Then she shoved him away from her, staggering as she did so. "Are you _insane!?_" she snapped.

"Yes, I am," Flynn said proudly.

Clara just stared at him incredulously.

"Don't stand there looking like you're working up the nerve to ask me to dance," Flynn exploded, "go and get the others while I get the Crown, and then meet me back in the Reference section."

Clara looked at him for a long moment before catching herself. As she took off amongst the book-shelves, Flynn fondly watched her go, "Ah, Hartley," he said, shaking his head to himself, "you're as mad as a Hatter."

* * *

Clara rounded a tee-pee, only to crash into Cassandra, nearly knocking her down. "Oh, God, I'm sorry," Clara cried, "I've been looking for you everywhere" -

\- "Sorry to interrupt the reunion, but we've got work to do," Lamia said, stepping forwards, unsheathing her sword.

"Wait," Cassandra said, grabbing Lamia's arm. "We need her to get the Crown."

"Fine, whatever," Lamia said, shrugging her shoulder, "you all look the same to me."

Cassandra let go of Lamia, only to grab Clara's arm instead, steering Clara forwards as Lamia followed them, her sword raised. "Only a Librarian can remove the Crown from its final resting place," Cassandra explained in an undertone.

"But Flynn said it would kill me if I touched it!" Clara hissed, struggling to compute it had been Cassandra who'd sold them out.

"And Lamia will kill you if you don't," Cassandra pointed out in an agitated whisper.

"Well, it looks like I'm trapped between a rock and a hard place, then," Clara retorted.

"Flynn was lying," Cassandra said pertly, "he just didn't want you leaving your pretty little fingerprints all over his precious Crown."

"What's wrong with my fingerprints?" Clara said incredulously.

"They would mess up the shiny metal," Cassandra said childishly.

"Why can't you get the Crown?" Clara snapped. "You're a Librarian as well!"

"I don't see why I should do all the heavy lifting," Cassandra pouted, "especially with this manicure," she added, holding up a pretty paw.

"Enough with the small talk," Lamia spat, shoving Clara towards the display case, "get me the Crown."

Clara stumbled towards where it lay, before suddenly snatching up a metronome and throwing it at Lamia, who just ducked and laughed.

"You can't defeat us with time, little one," she snarled, raising her sword as she advanced on Clara, "not when we have all the time in the world."

Cassandra hastily grabbed the Crown from its red velvet cushion. "Umm, can we go now, please?" she chirped. "I have the Crown, so it's time to toddle."

"After I've dealt with this diminutive problem," Lamia sneered, backing Clara into some book-shelves.

"You promised me nobody would get hurt," Cassandra said, her voice cracking, suddenly a world away from the prancing, pouting Cassandra of before.

"I never promised you I wouldn't kill anyone," Lamia smirked.

"Mind if I cut in?" Flynn queried, appearing out of nowhere.

"Why are you always in my way!?" Lamia spat, whirling on him instead.

"As I said before, you have _such _a magnetic personality," Flynn said, sidestepping her as he stepped in front of Clara. Before anyone could react, Excalibur came flying through the air, Flynn catching it with a flourish of his wrist.

"Oh my God, he has a flying sword!" Cassandra squealed, jumping up and down like a little girl. "That's so _cool!_"

Lamia shot her a withering look, instantly silencing her.

Flynn's gaze fell upon the Crown in Cassandra's hand. "Cassandra... _why?_" he asked, disappointed.

"The Brotherhood said they could save me," Cassandra said, just as suddenly barely able to speak now, "that only magic could save me."

"But serpents lie," Flynn said, suddenly lunging forwards.

But Lamia backtracked, snatching the Crown from Cassandra's hand and placing it atop her own head, twisted triumph descending on her features as a smile snaked its way across her face. "And serpents are swift," Lamia said, her eyes suddenly filled with violet flame. Before Flynn could react, she raised her hand, summoning Excalibur to her own.

"Cal!" Flynn shouted, starting forwards.

With a flick of her wrist, Lamia hurled Excalibur at Flynn like a thunderbolt, Clara throwing herself between Flynn and fate, the sword striking her instead. All of time seemed to slow down, her eyes widening with almost surprise, and then she fell to her knees, Lamia summoning the sword back to her side, Clara's blood running down its blade, trailing a trail over the ground.

"Clara!" Cassandra screamed, rushing forwards.

"It's time to toddle," Lamia said, raising an eyebrow as she restrained Cassandra, before dragging her away.

Flynn just remained rooted to the spot, caught between the Crown and Clara, shock paralysing him.

"Don't just dither, you _dingbat_," Clara said from between gritted teeth, "go and get that goddamn Crown" - Her eyes rolled back into her head, her body suddenly slumping sideways, hitting the ground, Excalibur wreaking his final revenge after all.

_But if the earth ends in fire_  
_And the seas are frozen in time_  
_There'll be just one survivor_  
_The memory that I was yours_  
_And you were mine_


	16. Full Circle

**Full Circle**

"Clara?" Jacob said stupidly, stopping at the sight of her lying on the floor.

"Get the hell out of my way," Flynn said from between gritted teeth as he barged Jacob aside, dashing over to the bookshelves behind him.

"What the hell happened here!?" Ezekiel demanded as Eve rushed over to Clara, rolling up her sleeves as she moved.

"It was Cassandra," Flynn spat, pulling book after book off the shelf, chucking them over his shoulder, "she let them into the Library."

Nobody said anything, too stunned to speak, just watching the pool of blood swell around Clara's body as Eve frantically worked over her.

"You can't help her!" Flynn bellowed, grabbing a copy of _The Nutcracker_. "It's a magical wound and magical wounds can't be treated!"

"What, so we just let her die then!?" Jacob said, looking like he was going to kill Flynn.

"Get the hell out of my way," Flynn said, barging both Jacob and Eve aside as he flung open _The Nutcracker_, extracting a cut glass vial concealed with its pages, holding it up to the light to see it was still full. "Why is nobody listening to me? Do I just have a face nobody listens to?" he muttered, casting them vengeful glances.

The others retreated to a respectful distance, not answering him, just giving him the space he needed to save Clara - or so they thought. Flynn cast aside _The Nutcracker, _before carefully lifting Clara into his lap, unstoppering the vial before tilting her head back, tipping some drops of the green liquid onto her lips, his face anxious as he waited for the magic to do its magic.

For a moment nothing happened, then Clara jolted back into being, coughing and retching as she collapsed against Flynn, almost throttling him as her fingers clutched his cravat for support.

"Nrngh!" Flynn choked, hastily disentangling himself from her.

Clara tried to curse him, only to burst into tears instead.

"Ssh, it's alright," Flynn soothed as he smoothed back her hair, "you're safe, safe as houses."

Clara slowly raised her head, the life leaving her big brown eyes. "Don't-lie-to-me," she spat, clutching her side, "whatever-you-do-,-_don't_-ever-_lie_-to-_me_."

Flynn stared at her, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, sounding most unlike himself. "I won't lie to you, not now."

"What the hell are you banging on about!?" Jacob demanded, exchanging a bewildered glance with Eve and the others. "She's going to be okay now, isn't she?"

"Magical-wounds-can't-heal," Clara said before Flynn could speak, wiping her eyes with the inside of her wrist, "and-cheating-death-comes-at-a-price-,-one-I'm-not-sure-it-would-be-worth-paying-for-in-the-end."

All the blood drained from Jacob's face, the others looking similarly shell-shocked, making Flynn realise the mistake he'd made in allowing them access to the realm of magic. Despite his words of warning, they believed magic could rectify every wrong, changing every unhappy ending to a fairytale one. But this wasn't once upon a time; this was life as it led to death, and Clara would die, becoming another footnote in the Library's annals, her name nothing but a line in a book nobody would read.

"Well, my lack of faith in humanity is restored," Ezekiel snapped, his voice shaking despite the sarcasm.

"Ha-ha," Clara said with great difficulty.

"Jesus Christ," Eve breathed, turning away from her.

"So she'll die?" Jacob said stupidly to Flynn, unable to comprehend Clara's words. "You really can't do anything?"

"I'm-not-dead-yet," Clara said, "so-talk-to-me-not-Flapjack-Flynn."

Despite himself, Flynn snorted, his eyes bright with tears.

"There has to be something up that elbow-patched sleeve of yours, Flap - Flynn," Jacob said, not taking no for an answer. "For starters, what was in that vial?"

"It contains water from the Well of Healing," Flynn said, his voice cracking, "but as Clara said, magical wounds can't heal, so the most it's done is slow down the bleeding."

"So she's basically doomed, then?" Ezekiel asked, eying Clara oddly.

"Duh," Clara said, rolling her eyes, the small effort of even that making her slump against Flynn.

As she did, a church bell suddenly started ringing, followed by another, then another, and another, forming a choir of cacophony, the sound ominous, almost like a warning, making their heads jerk up in tandem.

"Sounds-like-Quasimodo-is-having-a-party," Clara observed, coughing again.

"We have to go," Flynn said, Jacob and Ezekiel rushing forwards to help him get Clara to her feet, only for all four of them to nearly fall flat on their faces as the ground began to violently shake.

"What's going on!?" Eve shouted at Flynn above the din.

"We need to head to the Corridor of Doors!" Flynn yelled, carrying the now half unconscious Clara in his arms bridal-style as he led the way through the book-shelves.

"What-about-the-Vestibule-of-Vagabonds?" Clara said drunkenly. "Vade-mecum!"

"Never mind that, what the hell is that racket?" Jacob bellowed above the pealing bells.

"It's the Countdown Clock!" Flynn bellowed back, only to slow to a stop as the Library started to fold in on itself in front of him, like somebody shutting the pages of a pop-up book.

"_Holy shit_," Ezekiel said, looking like he was going to faint.

"Somebody's-just-cut-the-anchor-chain," Clara said weakly as the book-cases started to close in on them.

* * *

They came to a stop in front of the Corridor of Doors, Clara's head lolling against Flynn's shoulder, dizzily remembering from almost another life how she'd stood before these very same doors, attempting to guess where the Library would lead her, Clara trying to work up the courage to go there. Now she realised all too late that it had all been a lie, the Library deceiving her into death.

"What do we do!?" Eve shouted, clamping her hands over her ears.

"Yeah, Flynn, what do we do!?" Jacob spat sarcastically as Ezekiel hid behind him.

Flynn dithered, the row of doors disorientating him. Behind each one lay everywhere and anywhere. Every time he'd turned a handle, it had taken him away from Clara, and now the Library was taking her away from him, just like he'd known it always would. He'd realised too late what he was running from, Clara's time running out just when he'd stopped running. Without thinking, he booted open the bright blue door that he'd first led Clara through, the others following him, those who came after Clara, fate coming full circle.

As they threw themselves through the doorway, it was only to find they were in a forest, their surroundings serene and silent, luxuriously green and verdant. Then the door suddenly slammed shut, the Library lost once and for all, dividing Flynn from his family; Judson, Charlene, now all gone from him, Clara going with them. Head reeling, he glanced down at Clara, seeing past her pretty face and into the storm that roared within her heart, a storm he never wanted to shelter from. But Clara closed her eyes, trying to hold onto what was left of her, feeling life fall through her fingers. The pain was borderline bearable, but underneath, it was eating away at her, making her pray for a swift end, the end Excalibur had almost delivered.

"Clara, stay with me!" Flynn yelled, setting her on the leaf-strewn ground, shaking her by the shoulders.

"Let-me-sleep," she mumbled, her eyes fluttering shut again.

Flynn hesitated before slapping her, hard. The others stared at him, shocked.

"You-bloody-bast" -

\- "And that's enough of that," Flynn said smartly, clamping his hand over Clara's mouth.

"She's dying and you just _hit_ her," Ezekiel said, appalled.

"I hit her because she's _dying_," Flynn retorted. "You try keeping a corpse alive with only sweet nothings and a talking candle-stick."

"I'm-not-a-corpse," Clara croaked, grabbing his cravat with feeble fingers, trying and failing to strangle him into silence.

"Not yet," Flynn said flippantly, "and what a beautiful one you'll make."

"Flynn!" Eve exclaimed, her face paling.

"It's time to face facts, my exotic Eve," Flynn said gravely, "Clara is departing this life third class, and there's damn all we can do about it - I can't even wangle her an upgrade with a nod and a wink. It's terrible, it really is."

"Goodnight-Vienna," Clara whispered, sounding drunk again.

"I couldn't have put it better myself," Flynn beamed.

"Right, that's enough," Jacob spat, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

"Uh, where are we?" Ezekiel hastily asked, throwing himself between Flynn and Jacob.

Flynn glanced at the blue door, the sight of it standing there solo slightly incongruous even to his eyes. "_When _are we?" he said, sidestepping the question, his broad brow furrowing in fake fear.

"Oh-God-we've-gone-back-in-time," Clara whined, tightening her grip on Flynn's cravat, "I'm-going-to-die-before-I-was-even-born."

"Don't be ridiculous, Hartley," Flynn snapped, disentangling himself from her weak grip, only for her to slump against him again.

"Is she alright!?" Jacob said, panicking.

"I'm-dying-dufus," Clara spat, glaring at him.

"You've just got blood on my best waist-coat!" Flynn protested, looking extremely put out. "It's all... crimson." He studied his bloodstained fingers in disgust. "You need to eat more calcium," he admonished Clara, shaking a red digit reprovingly at her.

"I'm-Clara-The-Calcium-Kid," she muttered, baring her teeth like fangs at Flynn.

"I don't do vampires," a dour voice said, startling them all.

"Reveal yourself, evil spirit!" Flynn boomed, his voice echoing oddly through the forest glade.

"I don't do exorcists either," the same dour voice said even more dourly. Then a man of indiscriminate middling age stepped out from behind one of the trees, wearing an expensive looking Barbour coat and Wellington boots, looking every inch the landed gentleman except for his loud bow-tie and immaculately starched white shirt. He smoothed back his longish silver hair with a weary hand, studying the group with surprisingly dark eyes.

"Hello," Flynn said slowly, brow furrowing for real this time. "And who might you be? A wandering dryad perhaps?"

"Do I look like Napea to you?" the stranger retorted.

"I don't know," Flynn said, shrugging his shoulders, "I'm not the one gliding through a glade here."

"What are you doing out here?" Eve asked, stepping forwards.

"Waiting," the stranger said simply. "I do that."

"Waiting for what?" Jacob said, rolling his shirt-sleeves even higher, throwing off Ezekiel's restraining hand.

"I'm waiting for Zeus," the stranger said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I like dallying with ancient Graeco-Roman deities. It's something of a hobby of mine."

"Snap!" Flynn exclaimed, beaming again.

"Kill-me-now," Clara groaned.

* * *

_Skipping down a broken path_  
_How long can I last? Please let me know, oh_  
_Where's the finish line?_  
_'Cause I got to find somewhere to go..._

Somehow the group found themselves in the stranger's station-wagon, Flynn humming a hymn under his breath, praying Clara would find the courage to hold on until he could figure out a way to save her. During the drive, her hand had found his large one, gripping it for dear life as death tried to drag her under, drowning no longer a dream but a reality. Flynn could barely feel his fingers but he didn't care, only caring about keeping Clara alive.

"Where are we?" Ezekiel asked, sounding like a broken record as they drew up outside a large low-roofed grey stone building situated on a riverbank.

"Curiosity killed the cat," the stranger observed darkly, killing the engine.

They all piled out of the station-wagon, Flynn carrying Clara in his arms again, her hair falling across her face, obscuring it from sight, the others anxiously trailing after them like a bunch of over enthusiastic bridesmaids. The stranger led the way to a set of double doors, their scarred metal surface doing nothing to soothe their frazzled nerves. He pushed the doors open, sunlight streaming past him into the dark passage, illuminating the steep staircase below, striking the cobwebs hanging from various corners, making them glimmer oddly as though they were encrusted with diamonds instead of long dead flies.

"Why are we here?" Flynn asked, carefully navigating his way down the steps.

"Why are _you_ here?" the stranger said, turning the question back onto him.

"How did you know to find us in the forest?" Flynn flung back, suspicion rising in him.

"I know all about you, Flynn Carsen," the stranger said strangely.

"I don't understand," Flynn said, brow furrowing again, "who are you? What is this place?"

"I'm Jenkins, of course," the stranger said, sounding surprised, "and as for this place..." He led them down another dark passage before flinging open a set of double doors structured out of clouded glass and ornate ironwork, part of the pattern consisting of a sword on each side, almost like an emblem of sorts. He stepped forwards, clicking his fingers together, the library wing suddenly becoming flooded with light. "This is the Library," Jenkins said dourly, clasping his hands behind his back.

They all stared at him, incredulous and disbelieving, Clara burying her face in Flynn's shoulder.

"But the Library is gone," Flynn said, his voice cracking.

"Obviously you've been misinformed," Jenkins said, raising his bushy eyebrows.


	17. Born To Die

**Born To Die**

"Misinformed?" Eve said, her eyebrows climbing up her forehead.

Jenkins shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose I should invite you in," he said, "but like I said before, I don't do vampires." He shot a nervous glance at Clara who still had her face buried in Flynn's shoulder.

"She's not a vampire," Flynn said with great difficulty, "and I should know," he said more to himself than anyone else, his thoughts flickering to the past, remembering Simone and one last sunset.

"What's with all the blood, then?" Jenkins asked suspiciously.

"Excalibur," Flynn said bluntly, not brooking further explanation.

Jenkins did a double-take before catching himself. "Ah," he said oddly, his gaze dwelling on the back of Clara's brown head. "Excalibur."

"Yes, Excalibur," Flynn echoed, frowning now.

Jenkins shook his head slightly, as though trying to clear it. "Well, come in then," Jenkins then said, theatrically flourishing his hands in a parody of a welcoming host. "Make yourselves at home."

But as soon as Flynn stepped foot over the threshold, _Killer Queen _started playing at full blast, startling them all, none more so than Jenkins who almost jumped about ten feet in the air.

"What the hell is wrong with you people!?" Jacob hurled up at the vaulted ceiling, reminding Flynn of himself for a moment.

"You don't exactly look like a Queen fan," Ezekiel yelled at Jenkins above the music.

"I'm not!" Jenkins bellowed, scuttling up the sweeping staircase. "I - I've just been experimenting with the stereo system that's all!"

"Mum?" Clara asked childishly, raising her head. "Is that you?"

"We're losing her," Eve said, clearing the desk, which started protesting on cue. "Oh, some things never change, do they!?" Eve exclaimed, flinging up her hands as Flynn laid Clara down on the desk, trying and almost failing to stop her from rolling off it.

"This can't be the Library," Flynn said, beads of sweat starting to form on his brow. "The Library is gone, all of it - Judson, Charlene" -

\- "But this is your desk, isn't it?" Eve snapped. "The same talking desk that's got an obsession with Jacob's oversized ass, yeah?"

"The one and the only," the desk said dourly, sounding uncannily like Jenkins.

"I don't have a fat ass!" Jacob protested, the music thankfully stopping as he spoke.

"Yes, you do," the desk retorted. "It's blocking out the sun as we speak" -

\- "So this is the Library, then," Eve cut across the desk, clipping Ezekiel around the back of the head as he slipped a gem encrusted paperweight into his pocket. "This is not the right time, Fagin!" she admonished, forcing him to hand it over.

"It's the Library Annex," Jenkins said, coming up the side of them, looking extremely put out, "not the library wing - they're two completely different things and she's getting blood all over my books!"

"That's Flynn's desk though," Eve argued.

"How well observed," Jenkins said witheringly. "You're losing your touch, boy," he fired at Flynn.

Flynn just gaped at him.

"Who the hell are you?" Jacob demanded as _Killer Queen _started playing again.

Jenkins just ignored him. "This is an annex, dear, not an abattoir," Jenkins said to Clara as he rolled her onto her back, only to freeze at the sight of her bloodless face, looking like he'd just seen a ghost. Aside from the offhand remarks about vampires, Jenkins had barely afforded Clara the most basic of perfunctory glances, treating her as he did Eve and the others, almost completely below his notice, Flynn his main focus. But not anymore, he only had eyes for Clara, eyes that were almost bulging out of his head.

"Are you alright, mate?" Ezekiel asked, worried against his will.

"Is this your idea of a joke!?" Jenkins yelled up at the vaulted ceiling. "If it is, I have to say it's in the most questionable taste!"

The music just became louder, as though turned up by an invisible hand.

"Oh, I get it, I get it," Jenkins shouted, shaking his fist at the walls, "I'm down with all your modern popular culture references, I know what they mean!"

"We don't know what you mean," Ezekiel pointed out, trying to pocket a fountain pen, only for Eve to smack his hand away.

Jenkins looked at Clara before kneeling down beside her. "_Gwenhwyfar ferch Ogrfan Gawr/Drwg yn fechan, gwaeth yn fawr_," Jenkins whispered, completely ignoring Ezekiel and the others, Clara's empty eyes seeming to glimmer with an odd recognition at his words.

"Gwenhwyfar, daughter of Ogrfan Gawr/Bad when little, worse when great," Clara said with surprising clarity, her voice taking on a sly edge that hadn't existed before.

"And you are little," Jenkins said, his voice cracking, "not just in height, but in all other ways."

Clara just smiled at him, a smile that frightened Flynn, reminding him of a serpent, and then her eyes rolled back into her head, her body slumping into stillness. Jenkins stared at her, looking torn between hate and pity.

"For God's sake, do something!" Jacob yelled, grabbing the shellshocked Flynn by the throat. "Save her!"

"You can't save her," Jenkins said coldly, "and it's better that you don't."

They all just stared at him, Jacob letting Flynn go, only for Flynn to collapse down beside Clara, burying his face in his arms, his shoulders heaving as a terrible sob escaped his throat.

Eve looked at Flynn for a long moment, struggling with her own desires and dislikes. "She saved Flynn," Eve then said, stepping forwards, her voice shaking, "so for God's sake, save her."

"That's her job though," Jenkins said, shrugging his shoulders even as he sounded surprised, "to take a bullet for the Librarian - or a blade in this case. It's got a nice symmetry to it," he observed, studying Clara, "almost a poetic justice, you might say."

"She's not his Guardian," Eve said, bewildered, "I am."

"Then where were you when he needed you most?" Jenkins asked her, appalled.

Eve just stood there, speechless.

Judson studied her, looking like he was struggling with himself. Before anybody could react, he stalked over to some kind of filing system by the far wall, pulling out one of the small drawers and examining the index cards inside, muttering to himself as he did so. "Get me that volume of the _Welsh Triads,_" Jenkins suddenly snapped, snapping his fingers at Jacob, "and you over there, the one with the shifty eyes, get me anything by Monmouth," he fired at Ezekiel, who took off, trying to scan the book-shelves with an eagle eye as opposed to a shifty one.

"Can you save her, then?" Eve asked, tentative hope unfurling in her pale face, her words making Flynn raise his head from his arms.

"I can buy her some more time," Jenkins said reluctantly, "but that's it."

"That's all we need," Flynn said quietly, his voice cracking, "some time."

"Some of us have too much time," Jenkins said cryptically, before turning and walking away.

* * *

Flynn paused by the book-shelf, gripping it for support as he studied Clara curled up in the corner, her head bent over a book, her hair falling across her face, obscuring it from sight. After Jenkins had conjured up some kind of concoction, forcing it between her blueing lips, she'd been brought back to life, vomiting all over Jenkins's shining shoes, much to his loud disgust.

Eve had cleaned her up, changing her clothes for her, trying to pretend everything was alright, a lie Clara had refused to subscribe to. Instead she'd slipped off to be by herself amongst her beloved books, far away from the others. They had left her alone, sensing she needed her own space, some time to herself to adjust to the idea she was dying - or so they thought.

Clara had made her peace with death, but not with life. She'd accepted her end, that the Library had lied and led her to it. Life was not hers, and it never had been, not really. It had always been coming to this, a blade baptised with her blood, and she'd stalwartly submitted to her fate, even as Flynn fought it, like he was fighting it now, trying to hold onto what was long lost.

"Come with me," Jenkins said quietly, taking Flynn by the elbow, steering him away from Clara. "We need to talk, boy."

Flynn submitted, too dazed for anything else.

"You see it, don't you?" Jenkins said as they moved. "The storm within her, a storm that doesn't make sense."

Flynn nodded, swallowing hard.

"The Library doubts her," Jenkins said, forcing Flynn to sit down, "because she doubts herself. She doesn't know where she belongs."

"The Library is gone" -

\- "The Library is here" -

\- "If it doubts her, why is _she_ here?" Flynn said with great difficulty as Jenkins sat down opposite him. "One minute the Library was keeping her at arms' length, the next it was all but embracing her - _why?_"

Jenkins shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever it is, whether we like it or not, the Library brought her into the fold," Jenkins said dourly, "and we just have to accept its decree," he said, glaring up at the ceiling.

"What does it matter anyways?" Flynn said, running his hand down his face. "The Library's gone, Clara's dying and the Serpent Brotherhood has Excalibur and the Crown."

"The Library isn't gone!" Jenkins exploded. "It's here!"

"How can it be!?"

"The Main Library can only ever be anchored to one specific place in the world," Jenkins said against his will. "For example, what happened if the Librarian needed to gain access to the Library's knowledge but was far from the front door? So therefore we have this, the Annex."

"This is just an interface though," Flynn said, sounding like he didn't really care.

"Judson ran the Main Library while I was here in the Annex," Jenkins said as though he was addressing an imbecile, "it's all separate but _connected_."

Flynn just looked at him.

"The truth is, Judson has cut the connection to the physical world," Jenkins then said tiredly, suddenly looking very old, "and this room is all we have, with access to the information but with no way in or out of the Main Library."

"Why didn't you want to help her?" Flynn said suddenly, leaning forwards. "What was all that stuff about Ogrfan Gawr and the music?"

"You should be asking why I helped her," Jenkins said, scowling at him.

"Why?"

"Why is your nose so big?" Jenkins said, sidestepping the question. "Why is Judson so goddamn rash?"

"Hey, watch your tone when you speak about Judson" -

\- "Judson and I have never agreed on anything," Jenkins spat, "especially when it came to the Library. He liked the glamour when I didn't - to cut a long story short, the Library's best used for research, not for gallivanting about, seducing princesses" -

\- "I've never seduced a princess in my life," Flynn said in disbelief.

"What about a queen?" Jenkins said, his dark eyes glittering dangerously.

* * *

"You should have seen it coming," Clara said without looking up from her book.

"I know," Flynn said, sitting down beside her, "then it would have been - it _should _have been me in your place."

"I'm not talking about Excalibur," Clara snapped. "I'm talking about Cassie. They had leverage on her, and you should have seen that."

Flynn looked down at his palms for a moment, as if he could hold back death with his bare hands. "I should have seen all of it," he said, his voice cracking, "and now you're dying because I didn't see, because I wasn't good enough" -

\- "_You're _not good enough?" Clara scoffed, finally looking at him. "You're the Librarian, Flynn - the rest of us, we're just pretenders to your throne. If anyone wasn't good enough, it was me. If I wasn't wearing the wrong shoes, I was falling down rabbit holes - now look at me, I got a sword stuck in my side, and for what? The Crown is AWOL and you've gone on a guilt-trip like it's a honeymoon in Hawaii."

Flynn just sighed heavily, running his hand down the side of his face.

"I thought the Library was lost," Clara said, looking around her, not really caring anymore.

"It is and it isn't," Flynn said abruptly.

"Why did you kiss me?" Clara asked just abruptly.

"Because you grew on me," Flynn snapped.

"What, like a wart? Maybe a verruca?"

"Like moss?" Flynn suggested helpfully.

Clara snorted.

"It seemed... it seemed like a good idea at the time, okay?" Flynn said, his voice cracking.

"Well, it seems like a bad idea now," Clara said clippedly.

"You didn't exactly seem to find my amorous advances repulsive," Flynn said caustically.

"You caught me offguard," Clara retorted.

This time Flynn snorted.

"I'm dying, Flynn," Clara then said tiredly, "so it would have never worked out anyways."

"So you think it might have?" Flynn said slowly, avoiding looking at her.

"You're nuts," Clara said, shrugging her shoulders, "and sometimes I hate you."

"That's not an answer."

"Christ on a cracker," Clara exclaimed. "It's always got to be about you, doesn't it? The Flynn Carsen Freak Show" -

\- "Would we have worked out or not, Clara!?" Flynn demanded.

"Not unless you're into necrophilia," Clara said before she could stop herself, taking a savage satisfaction in making Flynn flinch.

"Alright, that's enough," he spat, standing up, his stomach turning.

"You're enough," Clara said, slamming her book shut.

"And I've had enough," Flynn flung back, "I'm going to get that goddamn Crown, so do whatever the hell you want. Die, live - see if I care."

_Come on take a walk on the wild side_  
_Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain_  
_You like your girls insane_  
_Choose your last words, this is the last time_  
_Cause you and I, we were born to die..._


	18. I Was A King Under Your Control

**I Was A King Under Your Control **

Clara came down the sweeping staircase, her book tucked under her arm, every beat of her heart long and laboured, like a clock slowing down. With some confusion, she glanced up at the large glowing globe hovering above her head. "What's with the super sphere?" she asked Jenkins, making him look up from the solid silver samovar he was polishing with his shirt sleeve. "Did Flynn switch it back on?"

"Oh, hello there... _Clara_," Jenkins said with some difficulty, sidestepping her question. "Would you care for some... _tea?_"

Clara looked at him, instantly sensing trouble, making her switch tack. "Where are Flynn and the others?" she asked, her brow furrowing at the sight of the empty Annex.

"They went to... London," Jenkins said, deliberating over the tea-cups, avoiding her eyes.

"Why?" she said, limping over to him.

"Something about a... stone," Jenkins said, backing away from her like she had rabies.

"What, like the Sword in the Stone?" she said, looking at Jenkins like he was mad.

"You would know, wouldn't you!?" Jenkins snapped, losing all self control. "Or was that all a bit before your time?"

"Is insanity catching or is it just you and Flynn?" Clara said, slamming her book down on the desk, ignoring its yowl of protest. "Of course it was bloody before my time!"

Before Jenkins could frame an answer, _Killer Queen _came booming back on.

"What is it with you and that song?" Clara yelled, clamping her hands over her ears.

"Consider it your theme tune!" Jenkins yelled back.

"I thought it was yours!?"

"No, mine is Knight Rider!" Jenkins shouted sarcastically, striking a noble pose.

Despite everything, Clara started laughing, clutching her side as she did so.

Jenkins just stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time, the song suddenly falling silent. "You really don't know me, do you?" he said slowly, eyes suspicious as he studied her.

"And you really don't like me, do you?" Clara said, crossing her arms across her chest.

"No, I don't."

"Then why did you help me?"

Jenkins shrugged his shoulders.

"Look, I don't know you, and you don't know me," Clara then said, stepping forwards, "but we both know the Serpent Brotherhood can't keep that Crown."

"What are you suggesting?" Jenkins said, his brow furrowing, his eyes still suspicious.

"Get me to London and I'll get that Crown back," Clara said quietly.

* * *

_Cut cover, take that test_  
_Hold courage to your chest_  
_Don't want to wait for you_  
_Don't want to have to lose_  
_All that I compromised..._

Clara staggered out of the toilet cubicle, smoothing down the front of her blouse as she did so, trying to look incongrous as she limped over to a spare sink, avoiding the curious gaze of a little old lady drying her wrinkled hands. Jenkins had moaned and groaned, making a million excuses before opening up a portal that would get her to London, dourly declaring he must be out of his mind. She'd stepped through the doorway, only to find herself in a toilet cubicle of all places. But she'd kept her cool, keeping incognito, flushing the toilet with slight trepidation, half expecting it to whirl her away to another world.

"Are you alright, dearie?" the little old lady asked her in a broad Scottish accent, reminding Clara rather stereotypically of bagpipes and heather.

"Just jet-lag," Clara lied, before hastily stumbling for the door.

She collapsed against the wall outside, her heart feeling hollow in her chest. Feeling death at her elbow, she forced herself to focus, straightening up and heading straight down the corridor instead. The door had led her here for a reason, and she had to find out that reason, and fast. But as she rounded the corner, she collided into a crowd, almost scattering several people like skittles. Then somebody was grabbing her wrist, hauling her behind a pillar, before whirling her round, only for Clara to find herself face to face with Flynn.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other, and then she was in his arms, her mouth finding Flynn's, mutual madness enveloping them both -

"Get the hell off me!" Clara hissed, shoving him away from her.

Flynn half turned away from her, running his hand down his face.

"You touch me one more time, I will ruin any chance you have of founding a dynasty. Savvy?" Clara threatened, her hand suddenly becoming claw-like.

"Who the hell do you think are? Captain Jack Sparrow!?" Flynn said incredolously.

"I'm thinking more along the lines of Captain Hook."

"I prefer Blackbeard myself."

"I don't care what you prefer, as long as you don't prefer me!"

"For God's sake, I didn't mean what I said back at the Annex!" Flynn exploded, rounding on her. "I do care, Clara!"

They just stared at each other for a long moment, Clara feeling like the ground had been cut out from under her feet. "Look, you and me being like this, it just came out of nowhere, and I can't deal with it, not on top of dying and everything else," Clara said slowly, backing away from him. "So we'll just sideline the snogging, alright?"

"We didn't 'just come out of nowhere'," Flynn said, his brow furrowing.

"We did."

"There's something between us - there always has been," Flynn argued, advancing on her, jabbing his finger at her face. "All that tension and all that fighting was because we were denying what was staring us right in the face, that there _was _something there - and there still is! Except you're too scared to admit how you feel, so you just keep pushing me away" -

\- "You've been pushing me away since the word go!" Clara protested, tears springing to her eyes. "You've acted like a total _bastard_ towards me, treating me like some old slipper" -

\- "A slipper?"

"Yes, a slipper!" Clara cried. "You make me feel like some chewed up old slipper, and I'm sick of it, Flynn, I'm bloody sick of it!"

He stared at her, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, holding his hands out to her. "I'm sorry."

But Clara didn't take his hands, shaking her head instead. "It's too late, Flynn," she said tiredly, "and I don't mean me dying, I just mean this, what - what we could have been, if we could have ever been anything."

Silence.

"I have been alone for a long time, Clara," Flynn then said, struggling to keep his voice steady, "and I've lost a lot along the way. I always thought defence was the best form of offence, so I pushed you away to protect myself, to protect you. All I have, I lose, and I didn't want to lose you, but I failed you - I've failed you in every possible way, and I'm sorry."

"You should be," Clara said coldly, "and if you ever go Rhett Butler on me again, you'll be gone with the wind, alright?"

"I kissed you in the Library because I changed my mind, Clara!" Flynn snapped. "I decided to stop pushing you away, to stop fighting what I felt" -

\- "I don't care, Flynn," Clara lied. "You might care, but I don't, and I never really did."

Flynn stared at her, all the blood draining from his face. "Why - why are you here, then?" he said, changing the subject, struggling to keep his composure.

"I'm here for the Crown," Clara said, leaning against the pillar, feigning nonchalance.

"But you shouldn't be _here_" -

\- "I have to get the Crown back!" Clara snapped, all but stamping her foot.

"You're not going to get it back, Clara," Flynn snapped back, "_I'm_ going to get it back."

"Over my dead body you will!"

Flynn stared at her again. "It's going to come to that though, isn't it?" he said simply, his eyes bright with tears. "You dying, I mean."

"Obviously."

Flynn exhaled sharply, half turning away from her again. "You'll never get the Crown back on your own," he said, avoiding her eyes, "only I can do that, because I'm the Librarian, that's what I do."

Clara bit her lip. "You're not the Librarian, Flynn," she said quietly, "you're one of the Librarians."

* * *

"So the Tower of London, huh?" Clara said awkwardly, trying to make conversation as they waited for the others to show up.

Flynn watched the row of Union Jacks flutter in the faint breeze. "Yeah," he said quietly, staring off into the distance, "the Bloody Tower." Then he glanced at her, his face softening almost against his will. "How does it feel to be back on British soil?" he asked her, fighting the urge to reach out and take her hand.

"It feels... weird," Clara admitted uneasily. "I thought I would never come back to the UK, yet here I am..." Her voice trailed off, her dark eyes becoming distant. "I suppose we all come home in the end," she said softly, pushing the hair out of her face.

Flynn studied her for a moment, before giving in and taking her hand, Clara tensing up as he did, even as she let him hold it. "I thought you would come here," he said, his voice cracking, "so I waited..." He cleared his throat theatrically, before pulling out a massive frilly pink hanky out of his pocket, performing a pantomine of blowing his nose, making Clara smile despite herself. "Sorry, I have a terrible cold," he lied, before catching sight of her smile. "Why are you smirking at my sinus problems?" he said pompously, sounding extremely put out.

"I'm laughing at you, not your nostrils, although they are rather diverting," Clara observed, knotting her fingers through his.

"My nose is full of character," Flynn said, flamboyantly gesturing to the offending organ. "And it can detect a dinosaur at three furlongs" -

Ezekiel came bursting out of a side door behind them, only to stop short at the sight of Clara, his bewildered gaze travelling from her to Flynn, dwelling on the sight of her hand in his.

"Where's the stone?" Flynn demanded, stepping forwards.

"Are you two together?" Ezekiel asked, face curious.

"No, we're not," Clara snapped, snatching her hand from Flynn's. "And what's it to you if we were?"

"Hey, if you're looking for a full house, it's not here," Ezekiel said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "You might have Carsen and Stone hot under the collar, but not me. You're not my type. I like my ladies to live on the wrong side of the law."

Clara just stared at him, slightly taken aback.

"The stone, boy, the stone!" Flynn bellowed, pulling out a piece of string and a packet of chewing gum from his blazer pocket.

"Hold your horses, it's here," Ezekiel said, handing it over, "and talking of here, how did you get here?" he asked Clara, face curious.

"Jenkins opened up a portal for me," Clara explained, brow furrowing as Flynn stuffed a huge wad of gum in his mouth, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he tried to chew it.

"How come she gets a portal, and we get a plane?" Ezekiel asked Flynn, ignoring his jaw acrobatics.

"Because I'm dying," Clara said, rolling her eyes. "I don't the time to check-in, not when I'm going to check out."

"Still doesn't make it fair though," Ezekiel said, "us having to rough it whilst you don't."

Before Clara could say anything, Flynn started choking, his face turning an odd aubergine.

"Alright, spit that gum out and spit it out now!" Clara yelled at him, thumping him between the shoulderblades, Ezekiel just standing there, watching the proceedings with great interest. To Clara's disgust, Flynn spat the gobbet of gum out, catching it in his hand, before attaching it to the piece of string and then the emerald stone Ezekiel had given him.

"What are you doing?" Ezekiel asked, confused.

"Did he not tell you the plan?" Clara said, even more confused.

"No, he just stuck Jake in a wheelchair and gave me a bag of jelly beans, saying 'go and steal a priceless jewel for me, my son'," Ezekiel said with a shrug of the shoulders.

"A wheelchair?" Clara said, bewildered now.

"No-one's looking at the wheelchair, Winnie," Ezekiel grinned, "not when that baby's worth 7 million Euros."

"Winnie? Baby?"

"The stone, Clara, it's worth 7 million Euros!" Ezekiel exclaimed, looking like he wanted to shake her.

"If it takes a piece of tin glass to turn you on, Ezekiel Jones, then God help Godfrey," Flynn said, startling them both before muttering an incantation, the string slowly rising like a snake about to strike, the emerald flashing like green fire. Then it suddenly dragged Flynn forwards, earning him a mouthful of Union Jack flag for his pains, Clara and Ezekiel taking off after him, Flynn being flung all over the place like a rag doll. As he struggled to bring the string under control, alarm bells started ringing, Eve and Jacob appearing in an archway, looking extremely harassed.

"They discovered the jelly beans, then?" Ezekiel shouted, diving to the side as Flynn flew past him.

"Oh yeah, they discovered them alright!" Jacob bellowed, striding forwards, only to stop short at the sight of Clara. Before she realised what was happening, she was in his arms, being swung off her feet, Flynn being spun around like a top nearby.

"I'm still dying, Jake," Clara said with some difficulty, extricating herself from his arms.

"But you're _here_," he said earnestly, "and while you're here, there's _hope_."

Clara looked at him for a long moment, the tears welling up in her eyes, Jacob trying to smile encouragingly at her, to bolster her courage for the fight ahead, not just for the Crown, but for her life. Eve came over to them, eying them oddly. "What's with the dream team over there?" she asked, gesturing Ezekiel and Flynn, the pair of them struggling with the string, Flynn cursing in Castilian as Ezekiel tried and failed to stop it from strangling him.

"And it's nice to see you too," Clara said pertly.

"No fighting over me, please," Jacob said, holding his hands out, making a show of separating them, "I might be smokin' hot, but I'm not _that _hot."

"In your dreams, Stone," Eve said, rolling her eyes. "Now, what's with the possessed string?"

"He's trying to find the Crown," Clara said, her head turning at the racket of running feet. Across the courtyard, several yeo-men came into view, led by a security guard shouting into his walkie-talkie, the sound of sirens filling the air.

"It's time to make tracks, troops," Jacob said, grabbing Clara's arm, Eve going to grab Ezekiel and Flynn, the two of them now tangled up together. By the time the beef-eaters came over to investigate the commotion, the group were gone, melting into the crowd of tourists being evacuated from the Tower. Somehow they found themselves in a park, Flynn still struggling with the string, reminding Clara of somebody trying to reel in a fishing line. It seemed to be leading him somewhere, and where it led, they had to follow, whether they liked it or not.

"Clara says the silly string can find the Crown," Eve said, all but sprinting to keep up with Flynn, "so why didn't you bother to tell us about that particular fun fact?"

"Because I needed you to focus on getting the emerald," Flynn panted.

"What, by stuffing Jake in a wheelchair and turning me into his charming but clumsy carer?" Eve scoffed. "It's hardly Bonnie and Clyde."

"Hey, I did all the work - all you had to do was crash Jake into the Crown Jewels," Ezekiel pointed out with some asperity.

"The jelly beans were a nice touch though," Jacob said thoughtfully.

"To get back to the point in hand..." Eve said pointedly, "the string is taking us to the Crown?"

"It's the emerald actually, but the Crown is a side-issue," Flynn gasped, "we have to stop them putting Excalibur back into the Stone."

"But you said we were getting the Crown back!?" Clara exclaimed, clutching her side.

"All in good time, Hartley, all in good time," Flynn scolded breathlessly, nearly crashing into a park bench.

"I don't have time though!"

"Just follow me!" Flynn hollered, heading towards a tree.

"Does he look like the Yellow Brick Road to you?" Jacob asked them all, jogging to keep up.

"He does now," Ezekiel said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Then off we go," Eve said darkly.


	19. Maybe Tonight

**Maybe Tonight**

Flynn crashed into a black ornate lamp-post, before clinging onto it for dear life, trying to stop the string from dragging him to his doom. The others slowed to a stop behind him, their faces reverential as they beheld Buckingham Palace in all its pale glory, even Clara who'd cycled past it countless times in her heady youth. Ezekiel let out a low whistle as he imagined himself ransacking its riches, the notion making the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

"Wouldn't I like to get my grubby paws on _that_," he said, his eyes widening with almost lust.

"No wonder you're single, Zeke," Clara said, sitting down on an obliging bench, "unless the object of your affection is inside a glass case, you're just not interested."

"If they're behind bars, I'm even more interested," Ezekiel said, smoothing his black hair back.

"Somebody find me a cage, then," Clara said sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"Not even then," Ezekiel said, winking at her.

Eve pulled a face. "Is what we need in there?" she then asked Flynn, gesturing to Buckingham Palace.

Flynn nodded, unable to form full sentences.

Eve stared at him. "So you want us to rob the Queen now?" Eve said incredulously.

"We already did," Ezekiel said, flipping open his phone. "Tower, anyone?"

"I'm not going back in that wheelchair," Jacob said, holding his hands up.

"Put me down for it instead," Clara said, clutching her side again.

"Won't be necessary," Ezekiel said, holding up his phone, "there's a charity event tonight."

"So?" Eve said.

"_So_ I should be able to forge us some sweet invites," Ezekiel grinned. "No wheelchair required."

"Breaking and entering, Ezekiel, tut-tut," Clara said, shaking her head.

"It's more fraud," Jacob pointed out.

"So what's next, then? The Vatican? The White House?" Eve exclaimed, looking like she was about to explode.

"Don't worry, they're on my bucket list," Ezekiel said, stowing his phone away.

"Right, if we're breaking and entering, we're going to do it in style," Eve snapped, grabbing Clara's wrist and hauling her to her feet, ignoring Clara's cry of protest.

"Whoa, take it easy, Baird," Jacob said, exchanging a glance with Ezekiel, "the girl's not exactly in tip-top condition."

Eve stared at him for a long moment, before letting Clara go. "I'm - I'm sorry," Eve apologized, startling them all, "it's - it's - it's just this is all feeling like a constant kick in the head, and she's dying, and I can't stop it" - Eve startled them all again by suddenly burying her face in her hands, the others hesitating before tentatively patting her shoulder and arm, whatever was closest, making Eve slowly raise her head, the expression in her blue eyes bordering on disbelief.

"It's going to be alright," Clara said quietly, offering Eve a wobbly smile, belying the lie.

"What about me!?" Flynn complained, still clinging to the lamp-post. "This piece of string is dragging me to the deepest depths of hell!"

"I wish it would," Clara muttered, "then we wouldn't have to listen to your whinging."

"You love me really," Flynn said mournfully.

"Yes we do," Ezekiel said, his gaze firmly fixed on the emerald.

* * *

Clara came out of the changing room, the stiff black satin fabric creaking as she moved, Eve eying her critically. "This isn't working," Eve said, shaking her head. "You're just too short."

"Well, I'm sorry we can't all be statuesque blonde goddesses like you," Clara snapped, clutching her side again.

Eve just stared at her before burying her face in her hands again, a sob suddenly escaping her.

"Hey," Clara said, limping over to her, "what's with the waterworks?"

"You're _dying_, Clara," Eve hissed, raising her head from her hands, her eyes filled with tears, "and it's all _my fault_."

Clara stared at her, confused. "I'm not following," she said bluntly.

"I'm your Guardian," Eve said angrily. "I'm meant to protect you!"

Clara looked down at the exorbitantly expensive heels she had on, before glancing up, her brow furrowing. "You can't be in two places at once, Eve," Clara said slowly, still struggling to understand, "especially when there are five of us for you to flank."

"Four," Eve corrected her.

Clara went quiet, remembering Cassandra's betrayal, the memory hurting like a whip-lash.

"Look, let's just get this over and done with," Eve said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, "since you're so short, the only option is to go shorter."

"I'm still not following," Clara said, brow furrowing further.

"You don't need to," Eve said standing up, "just let what's left of the hem do all the talking."

* * *

"Are you feeling alright?" Eve asked Clara as they tottered down the corridor, Clara navigating her high heels with less ease than Eve.

"I'll live," Clara said, avoiding the admiring eye of a passing steward.

Eve's jaw tightened at Clara's words, but she held her tongue, tucking the manila folder more tightly under her arm, before taking Clara's elbow, steering her towards the sweeping staircase, gracefully inclining her head at the flurry of murmured compliments that followed them in their wake. She was dressed in a sea green gown that clung to her every curve, her golden hair elegantly loose instead of scraped off her face, Clara clad in a strapless crimson dress that was too short and too low-cut for her taste, her dark hair piled artlessly on top of her head. They each acted as a foil to the other, the sight of them descending the stairs side by side catching the attention of the throng below, heads turning from all directions in their direction.

"And we're just in time," Clara observed, watching three burly stewards surround Flynn, Jacob and Ezekiel, the trio looking ready to run, their forged invites obviously failing to convince.

"They're with me," Eve called, her voice carrying over the sound of high society, making Flynn and the others glance up, before doing a double-take, Flynn looking comically speechless at the sight of Clara so skimpily dressed. Her style was as conservative as his, if less bizarre, and he couldn't reconcile the Clara he remembered with the Clara before him.

"Close your mouth before you catch a fly in it," Clara hissed at him, annoyed by their shocked stares, before becoming even more annoyed as Flynn's gaze drifted over Eve, his face taking on an even more dazed expression, Jacob dropping his gaze to the ground, fighting the automatic urge to admire the female form, or forms in this case, knowing Eve would kick his ass to kingdom come if he did. Ezekiel looked similarly shellshocked, but it was more to do with the jewels they were dripping with than anything else.

"And who are you?" the head steward demanded, adjusting his ear-piece as he did.

"Orders from the Director of Counter-Terrorism," Eve said smartly, handing the manila folder to him.

The head steward opened it, perusing the documents within with a suspicious eye, before glancing up at Eve, studying her for a long moment. "Alright, gentlemen," he said to Flynn and the others, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from Eve, "welcome to Buckingham Palace."

* * *

_I foresaw you like an old ghost story_  
_From a family tree that was handed down to me_  
_I've known you like a siren song that warns_  
_I've been informed you could be the death of me..._

Flynn couldn't tear his own gaze away from Clara, still unable to believe his eyes. "You're all... _woman_," Flynn said stupidly as Eve led them into the ballroom.

"No, I'm all man," Clara retorted, leaning on Ezekiel's arm.

"Keep it together, Clara," Jacob murmured, his practiced gaze scanning the crowd for a pretty face.

"You try that when your insides have been skewed like a kebab," Clara hissed, treading on a man's toe, ignoring the way he stared at her like he'd just seen a ghost.

"Thank you for that mental image," Ezekiel said sarcastically, casting her diamond choker yet another longing look.

"Don't thank me, thank Excalibur," Clara said. "He's the one that carved me up like a Sunday dinner."

"Would you stop the food analogies?" Jacob asked, glaring at her. "You're putting me off the banquet."

"You're not here to stuff your face," Eve reminded him. "You're here to find the Stone, _Stone_."

"Over here," Flynn said, dragging his eyes away from Clara's indecent neckline before dragging them all into a corner instead, barging several waltzing couples aside as he did so. "Right," he said, forcing Eve and the others into a rugby huddle, "the Royal Family have access to the Stone - look for a secret passageway, something out of the ordinary."

"Is the Stone underground?" Clara said suspiciously, glancing over her shoulder, uncomfortably sensing somebody was watching her.

"Um, yes, probably," Flynn said vaguely.

"Oh great," Jacob said, rolling his eyes.

"I like dungeons," Ezekiel said airily.

"Good," Flynn said abruptly, "you and Clint here can go and find one."

Ezekiel stared at him, startled.

"Go forth!" Flynn bellowed, flapping his hands at him. "Multiply!"

"Not with me," Jacob said hastily, heading for the doorway.

"Don't flatter yourself," Ezekiel retorted before taking off after him.

"What about me?" Eve said, her brow furrowing.

"Make sure the Serpent Brotherhood isn't sniffing around," Flynn said swiftly.

"Done and dusted," Eve said, sashaying off, several jaws - including Flynn's - dropping in her wake.

"What did I say about flies, big boy?" Clara snapped.

"What do you say about a dance?" Flynn parried, pulling himself together.

"How can I?"

"How about I hold you up?"

"Like a bank?"

"No, like this," Flynn said, taking her in his arms.

"We're meant to be finding Arthurian artefacts," Clara reminded him as they started to slowly circle on the spot, their uncertain sway matching that of the music, their feet carrying them further and further into the web of waltzing couples.

"Pretend this is our first date," Flynn said, "that our eyes met across a crowded room, and that we have the whole night ahead of us."

"I don't even have tonight."

"You do now - I'm giving it to you."

Clara looked up at Flynn, studying him for a long moment. "I'm a waitress," she said suddenly.

"I'm a librarian," Flynn replied, catching Clara's cue, his dark eyes twinkling in response.

"I work at Hurricane Anne's Breezy Bistro," Clara continued, the corners of her crimson lips tilting upwards, "it used to be Hurricane Anne's Breezy Bistro &amp; Bookshop but nobody bothers with the books but me, so they dropped the bookshop part."

"You should tell your boss to ease up on the alliteration."

"I did," Clara said, smiling now, "but he didn't listen."

Flynn looked at her, wrongfooted. "Oh, we're talking about me now?" he said, the penny dropping.

Clara nodded.

"I _am_ your boss, amn't I?" Flynn said, the realization just dawning on him. "Wow, I didn't know that."

"Well, enjoy it while you can," Clara said darkly.

"I'm like Christian Grey," Flynn said, ignoring her, his eyes widening with wonder. "Executive extraordinaire."

"More like Fifty Shades of Geek," Clara said, rolling her eyes.

"Why are you so cruel to me?" Flynn asked, pretending to be put out.

"Let's just say I learned from the best," Clara said flippantly, making his face darken.

"Don't ruin this, Clara," he said quietly.

"I prefer it when you call me Hartley."

"If this is what you call flirting, I'd rather stay single."

"It's better that than me making you a widower."

"I'd like to be widowed by you."

"You are a complete fruitcake, Flynn Carsen," Clara said, shaking her head at him.

"And you are extraordinarily beautiful," Flynn parried, trying to turn the conversation back to its original course.

"Some would say you had a serpent tongue," Clara replied tartly, only to blink as a stranger cut in, forcing Flynn to a stop.

"May I?" the stranger asked, throwing Flynn an apologetic smile.

Flynn couldn't speak, something about the stranger's snake-like gaze suddenly silencing him. Before Clara could react, she was being waltzed away from Flynn, his face disappearing from sight amongst the crowd of dancers, Clara absolutely powerless to protest. She glanced up at the stranger, unable to do anything but stare at him, failing to recognize him as the man whose toe she'd stood on. He was tall and lean, his features possessing a strange skull-like quality that emphasised the darkness of his eyes, making them resemble almost empty eye sockets.

"Your friend is right, you really are extraordinarily beautiful," he said, smiling down at her. "The most beautiful woman in Buckingham Palace tonight if I may be so bold to say so."

Clara just continued to stare at him, feeling as though she was in a trance, his onyx gaze holding her captive, and all the while, it felt like something was tugging at the edge of her memory, forcing her to remember what she wanted to forget -

"You don't remember me, do you?" the stranger said, his smile fading.

Clara shook her head, the effort making her dizzy.

"He's even taken you away from me," the stranger said, his gaze suddenly scorching her soul. For a moment it felt like she being consumed by flame, and then the stranger was gone, leaving her alone in the middle of the dance floor.

_But patience bounds an eternal stone _  
_You were meant to be mine_  
_I draw a door with the cards of gods_  
_In a great and faded time..._


	20. Death By Debbie Harry

**Death By Debbie Harry**

Clara found Flynn massacring his way through the hors d'oeuvres, the sight turning her stomach slightly. For all his airs and graces, he had the table manners of a pig. As he started stuffing stuffed mushrooms into his blazer pockets, Clara hastily sprung forwards, grabbing his hand to halt him. "That's enough," she said warningly, trying to ignore the raised eyebrows being aimed like ammunition in their direction.

"Their Vorspeise is visionary, Clara!" Flynn exclaimed, looking like he'd just found the Holy Grail. "Absolutely visionary!"

"We're meant to be finding the Stone, Flynn," Clara hissed, leading him away from the appetizers.

"You're holding my hand, Hartley," Flynn observed.

"Yes I am," Clara said tartly, dragging him into a discreet corner. "Now what about the Stone?"

"Where did you go?" Flynn said, completely sidestepping the question.

"Where did you go!?" Clara snapped, losing patience.

"I was here the whole time," Flynn said pettishly, pulling a stuffed mushroom out of his pocket and stuffing it in his mouth. "Found a wall."

"What do you mean you 'found a wall'?" Clara asked, confused.

Flynn glanced over his shoulder at a far wall where a steward stood guard. "That coat of arms belonged to John Sheffield," he said in an undertone, "the Duke of Normandy who was the architect of Buckingham House."

"Does that piece of trivial trivia have anything to do with the Stone?" Clara hazarded, tilting her head to one side.

"Yes it does," Flynn said furtively, "yes it does."

* * *

"Hold your nose," Flynn instructed Clara, before clicking his fingers. As though by magic, the room was suddenly filled with skunks, scattering stewards and society beauties alike, complete chaos erupting, much to Flynn's smug satisfaction.

"How the hell did you do that?" Clara asked, impressed against her will.

"I called in a few favours," Flynn said flippantly, leading her through the hysterical throng, towards the wall he'd found. "The Skunk King owes me."

"I suppose he doesn't owe you anything now," Clara said, ducking as a dish went flying past her head.

"This is just him paying off the interest," Flynn said, slowing to a stop. "But it got rid of our steward friend, which is all I wanted."

"That's all you want then?" Clara said, raising a provocative eyebrow.

Flynn looked at Clara for a long moment, his gaze travelling over her, taking her in from top to toe, seeing everything and missing nothing, making Clara feel more exposed than she already was. "I want you," he said quietly, reaching out for her hand, only for Clara to draw back from him.

"So what's with the wall, big boy?" Clara asked acerbically, trying and failing to recover her composure.

Flynn just looked at her like she'd stabbed him through the heart. But before he could say or do anything, Ezekiel and Jacob popped up on either side of them, Ezekiel's pockets rattling suspiciously.

"What's with the Mephitis mephitis?" Jacob demanded, detaching a skunk from his suit sleeve.

"That's what I'd like to know," Eve said, limping over to them, one of the heels missing from her shoe.

"Was this you by any chance?" Ezekiel asked, looking pointedly at Flynn.

"There's no point in denying it," Jacob said. "This has Flynn Carsen written all over it."

"Never mind that, what about the wall?" Clara pressed.

"What about the wall?" Eve asked.

"Yeah, what we are walling?" Ezekiel reiterated, perking up.

"It's... it's more secret dooring," Flynn said with some difficulty, avoiding looking at Clara.

"Well, let's door it!" Ezekiel decreed, striking a mysterious stance suitable for opening a secret door.

"Indeed, let's do," Clara said, rolling her eyes.

* * *

Clara sneezed, the sound echoing throughout the wine cellar they'd wandered into, making Jacob jump violently.

"Death by cobwebs," Flynn remarked dryly, ignoring Eve's glare.

"Death by Debbie Harry," Clara retorted.

"That sounds like a new perfume," Flynn observed.

"If you want aromas, you can't get finer than this, Flynn," Ezekiel said, gesturing to the rows and rows of wine racks. "This little lot goes back to George III."

But before Flynn could respond, an unearthly shriek almost shattered their eardrums, shaking the walls. Clara grabbed Ezekiel's arm for support, Jacob throwing his arms around Eve, Flynn hugging himself. As the shriek faded away, Eve shoved Jacob away from her, her face furious. "Do you mind!?" she exclaimed, looking like she was going to break his nose.

"Do you mind!?" Flynn demanded of himself.

"I don't mind," Ezekiel said to Clara, patting her head paternally.

"Anyways..." Jacob said hastily, backing further away from Eve. "What's with the caterwauling?"

"The Caterwauling Cowboy," Clara said thoughtfully. "Sounds like an R.L Stine story" -

\- "Uh, C-Clara, you're - you're _bleeding_," Ezekiel suddenly stuttered, pointing at her.

Clara looked down at herself, slightly bemused at the dark stain rapidly spreading across her abdomen. "So I am," she said, brow furrowing slightly, before her knees buckled beneath her, Ezekiel catching her before she hit concrete, her body sagging in his arms.

"Clara!" Flynn cried, rushing forwards, only to falter as her dark eyes flashed violet, her face becoming contorted with rage.

"It's mine!" she screamed, startling them all. "It's mine! It's mine! It's mine!"

"What's yours?" Flynn asked, approaching her with great caution, signalling the others to keep back, Ezekiel hastily letting go of Clara and backing away from her.

"The Crown!" she shrieked, trying and failing to sit up. "It was mine, and they took it from me!"

"What about the Sword and the Stone?"

"They are one once more," Clara said, her voice rising in pitch, "in alignment" -

\- "Clara, look at me," Flynn said urgently, kneeling down in front of her, "just look at me..."

For several long moments she just stared at him, and then the violet began to fade from her eyes, returning them to their original brown. Clara collapsed against the wall, shellshocked, reminding Flynn of when she first came to the Library, the memory like a kick in the head.

"Why does that keep happening, Carsen?" Eve demanded, whirling on Flynn.

"What keeps happening?" Flynn said weakly, tugging at his cravat.

"Clara being possessed," Jacob pointed out. "You know, what with the creepy smile and crazy Welsh speaking stuff."

"I'm being possessed!?" Clara squeaked, suddenly sounding mouse like.

"Yeah, full on Exorcist style," Ezekiel piped up, "with spinning heads and projectile vomiting - oh hello _darling_," he said becoming distracted by a dusty wine bottle, "where have you been all my life?"

"Focus Fagin," Eve said, cracking her knuckles threateningly.

"How can I with such beauty before me?" Ezekiel said, removing the bottle from the wine-rack, blowing the dust from its label. "An 1811 _Château d'Yquem_ \- I stole one of these once, worth about 100,000 dollars, so this little lulu is coming home with me. Oh happy days!" he beamed, his happiness making him immune to the others' incredulity.

"Full circle," Clara said oddly, pointing at the wine rack behind Ezekiel.

"I know, we were just destined for each other," Ezekiel agreed, bestowing a fond glance upon the wine bottle.

"No, she means the wine rack," Flynn said, suddenly lunging forwards, Ezekiel diving out of the way, clutching the bottle to his chest like a mother shielding her child.

"Is she being possessed again?" Jacob asked, exchanging a nervous glance with Eve.

"Oh God," Clara whispered, burying her face in her hands.

"Have heart, Hartley," Flynn said, sliding the wine rack back, revealing an arched passageway.

"Okay, how did she know that?" Ezekiel said, still clinging to his wine bottle.

"Let's leave the mysteries to Arthur C. Clarke, shall we?" Flynn said acerbically, shrugging off his blazer as Jacob and Eve helped Clara to her feet.

"And let's not leave this wine behind to a rather dusty fate," Ezekiel retorted.

"Whatever, John Adlum," Flynn snapped, draping his blazer around Clara's rather bare shoulders. "It's time to enter the unknown." And with that, he led them into the darkness.

_Why worry now? You'll be safe__  
__Hold my hand, just in case__  
__And we won't fade into darkness…_


	21. Resurgam

**Resurgam**

They followed the sound of Lamia's voice, using it almost like a rope to guide them through the network of tunnels, Clara barely able to walk now. Flynn glanced worriedly over his shoulder at her, before holding out his hand, Clara taking it, almost against her will. Eve averted her face, looking oddly hurt, making Clara feel guilty. She knew Eve had developed some sort of reluctant crush on Flynn, but despite the guilt, it was the least of Clara's worries right now, Eve's amour appearing almost ridiculous in her eyes.

..."We have achieved the goal of returning magic to the world," Lamia intoned, her voice echoing oddly around the tunnel, "so stand before me, my brethren, and join me in honouring our master's victory..."

"Somebody please pass me a sick bucket," Ezekiel whispered, pretending to vomit violently.

"Over here, idiot!" Flynn hissed, grabbing Ezekiel by the shirt collar and hauling him back, dragging Clara in his wake. The others followed him, their faces pale in the flickering gloom. Flynn snatched the wine bottle from Ezekiel's fingers, before setting it down on the uneven ground with a snap of his teeth, glancing over his shoulder at where Lamia still held court unseen, her voice now leading a chorus of voices.

"Okay, we're going to have to go in there and grab that Crown," Flynn said, making the obvious, obvious.

"But they're going to kill us if we do," Jacob pointed out, making the obvious even more obvious.

"We have Eve," Ezekiel suggested helpfully.

"We do, but she's not enough," Flynn said, struggling to keep his temper.

"But she's an arsenal in human form!" Ezekiel protested.

"But not _inhuman_," Flynn said testily, making Eve roll her eyes.

"So-what-do-we-do-then?" Clara asked, wincing with pain.

"I don't know," Flynn snapped, letting go of her hand. "Do you have any amazing ideas we can use?"

"I have some ideas," Cassandra said nervously from somewhere close by, her voice oddly muffled.

They all looked at each other, startled, before turning and going round a corner they hadn't explored yet, only to find Cassandra sitting in a cage, the sight startling them even further. She awkwardly fluttered her fingers at them, looking childishly shamefaced. Ezekiel grinned, the only one to show any sign of being pleased to see her again. "Hello kid," he said, folding his arms over his chest, "how's it hanging?"

"Not very well," she admitted. "But as I was saying, I have some ideas" -

\- "No way," Jacob snapped, "not after you sold us out like that."

Cassandra paled under the onslaught of his anger, her blue gaze falling upon Clara instead, her lower lip trembling. "I never meant for you to get hurt, Clara," she said quietly and with difficulty, "please forgive me."

Clara looked at her for a long moment, her own mouth trembling. "Lamia-didn't-just-hurt-me-,-Cassie," she said just as quietly and with even more difficulty, "she- killed-me."

Cassandra straightened up, her brow furrowing. "But you're here," she almost argued, gesturing to Clara, "you're walking and talking..." Her voice faded into nothing as Clara pulled back Flynn's blazer, revealing her blood-stained dress, Cassandra looking like she was going to faint. "Oh my," she squeaked stupidly, tears pooling in her eyes, "I... I don't know what to say," she stuttered, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Well, don't say anything, then," Jacob said cruelly, before turning away, angrily wiping his eyes with his suit sleeve.

"We don't have time for this melodrama!" Flynn hissed in an oddly high pitched voice, glancing nervously over his shoulder, half expecting to see Lamia and her horde descending upon them at any moment.

"Come on, kid," Ezekiel said hastily, stepping forwards and springing Cassandra out of the cage, the others giving him a wide berth as he did.

"So what's the big idea, then?" Flynn demanded, stepping in front of Clara, almost shielding her from Cassandra's guilty gaze.

Cassandra stood there for a moment, looking like a rabbit caught in the headlights, before shaking herself back into semblance. "Follow me," she said, before taking off, prancing down the dark tunnel, the others following her with some trepidation, Flynn taking Clara's hand again. "Okay, so that's the drill and that's the ice water cooler," Cassandra said, slowing to a stop, pointing in all directions at super speed, forgetting nobody but Flynn could keep up with her, "and that's the warm air recycler and that's the electrical wires and that's the generator and then there's the metal pipes" -

\- "Okay, okay, I get it," Flynn interrupted, the others obviously not getting it, "distraction, then action, and this is so going to work!" He did a little jig of joy on the spot, Clara tearing her hand out of his, unable to bear being jolted so.

"You sure about that, Carsen?" Jacob said sceptically.

"Yes, but it's going to take all of us," Flynn said, suddenly serious, "starting with you, Stone."

"Me?" Jacob said, even more sceptical now.

"Yes you, my bronco riding buffoon," Flynn said, rolling his eyes, "you're going to re-route that ice water cooler into the warm air recycler, because that's going to be our cover."

Jacob nodded, finally getting it, the others still not getting it.

"You said it would take all of us," Ezekiel said, stepping forwards.

"You're going to hack that generator, rewire it and make the alternating current super spinach strong," Flynn instructed, grabbing Clara's hand again, much to Eve's annoyance, "and when I yell, you'll add the frequency Cassandra gives you, savvy?"

"Savvy," Ezekiel and Cassandra said in odd unison.

"Eve, I need you be the final distraction," Flynn said to her, his gaze locking with hers. "You as well, Jacob."

"Got it," Eve agreed, finally getting it, Jacob rolling up his suit sleeves.

"What-about-me?" Clara whispered, swaying slightly.

"You're going to get the Crown, Hartley," Flynn said, smoothing her hair back, "just like you always wanted."

* * *

Eve threw herself headfirst into the melee, Jacob hard on her high heels, Flynn and Clara slipping into the room unseen, the smoke cloaking them from sight. After several steps, they suddenly separated, Flynn dropping one final kiss on the back of Clara's hand, and then he was gone, leaving her alone amongst the chaos. Where Flynn went, Clara didn't know, and she didn't care, some unknown force drawing her onwards, steering into the centre of the room, the din dimming into silence, surrounding her on all sides.

Time seemed to slow down, then speed up, Clara's vision becoming filled with a clarity that it never had before, death receding into the darkness. It was like she was the only one in existence, the ruler of all, acknowledging nothing but her own will. As she moved, the smoke swirled around her ankles, almost giving fealty. She slowed to a stop at the sight of Flynn lying on the floor, Lamia standing over him, her sword raised, the Crown atop her proud head, the Sword back in the Stone, once more in alignment...

Clara tilted her head to one side, remembering almost from another life reaching for the Crown back at the Library, Flynn slapping her hand aside, the memory angering her. She raised that same hand, her fingers flexing, her eyes turning violet - they would not stop her now, not ever. There was a scream, then a flash of silver, and after all these years, all those centuries spent suffocating, suffering, the Crown was finally hers again, the burnished metal cold against her dying flesh. Clara carefully placed the Crown atop her brow, closing her eyes, savouring her victory.

"_Resurgam_," she whispered, her eyes flying open. With a swift flourish, everything froze around her, everything but Flynn and Lamia, the latter dropping her sword, the handle scorching her skin, Guinevere smiling, enjoying, as always, another's pain.

"Clara," Flynn began, only to fall silent, Guinevere tilting her head to the side again.

"You did not know," she said quietly, stepping forwards, "but you started to suspect, did you not? You saw the storm within, the storm that should not be."

Flynn just stared at her, still unable to speak.

"But whilst you suspected, the Library _knew_," Guinevere continued, circling him, "it knew all along. It thought it could save Clara from me, but it couldn't, because that is precisely the problem - Clara and I are in alignment, we are one, like the stars, like the Sword in the Stone. There cannot be one without the other, we cannot be torn asunder."

"Excalibur," Flynn whispered.

"Excalibur knew," Guinevere said, "he still fears me, even after all these centuries." She stared into the distance, her dark eyes darkening even further. "You said the Library wouldn't let me live," she said, turning to face Flynn again, "that it was in my soul. But that was the mistake it made. Death merely acted as a drawbridge, allowing me to cross through Clara into this realm again."

"Who are you?" Lamia hissed.

"I am the daughter of Ogrfan Gawr," Guinevere smiled.

"It's all in the name," Flynn said with great difficulty, "hidden in plain sight."

"He will never love you," Guinevere told Lamia, ignoring Flynn, "not while I haunt his heart."

Lamia just stared at her, her face distorted by disbelief.

"And his son," Guinevere said, turning away from them all, "still living in his father's shadow..." She looked at the tableau before her, the figures frozen in mid-fight, her gaze dwelling on Jacob and Eve the most, the expression in her eyes flickering between thoughtfulness and fear. "One doomed by her gift, one who fled from his gift, one who abuses it, one who is denied it," she whispered, her fists clenching by her side, "and then there is she who started sin..."

"Excalibur!" Flynn suddenly shouted, reaching out for his friend.

"No!" Guinevere cried, raising her hand, the sword stilling in mid-air. Almost against its will, the sword then came to her, whimpering, quivering, its blade bending, arcing away from her outstretched fingers. "Do not fear me, old friend," she soothed, "it is I, your queen, your death."

"No," Flynn echoed, staggering to his feet, "you're nothing."

"Am I?" Guinevere smiled seductively. "In your eyes, I'm not. In fact, I am quite... _something _to you. I've seen you looking, Flynn Carsen, you importunate jester."

Flynn flushed hotly, his shoulders hunching.

"So are you going to give me your epic speech now, Flynn?" Guinevere said, her smile growing wider. "How Clara would win this war by _knowledge_, and not by shedding _blood_. But she started this war by shedding her own blood, restoring me to my birth-right" -

\- "And it's you who denied Clara hers," Flynn said from between gritted teeth.

"No, it is _you _who denied Clara her gift," Guinevere said, shaking her head, "you tried to stop her at every turn from accepting her fate. It is you who the prophecy speaks of, not I."

Flynn just stared at her, his face contorted by hatred.

"My soul is composed of many shades," Guinevere said quietly, "and not all of them dark." She drew Excalibur to her, her fingers tightening around his handle. "Yet hate rules me," she said, her grip tightening, "as I would rule this world." Excalibur let out a scream, Flynn flinching, trying and failing to reach his friend. "This sword was wielded by one who sought to subjugate me," Guinevere hissed, "and it shall not. I will not let it!"

But as she drained the life out of Excalibur, her face paled, her eyes widening in shock. She fell to her knees, letting go of the sword, but too late, the damage was done. She had torn the Sword asunder and herself with it, a mistake she should not have made, a folly she should have foreseen. But hate had ruled her, blinding her, dooming her, damning her. As the magic returned to the earth, the life faded from her eyes, her hand reaching hopelessly for the horizon she had sought to conquer. A shadow fell across her, a shadow that should not be...

"Death didn't set you free," Flynn said, standing over her, "it just dragged you out of the darkness and into the light."

* * *

When Clara came to, it was only to find Flynn's anxious face inches from her own, her heart beating like a hummingbird. She knew without knowing that she was about to cross the divide, her feet touching the shores of the River Styx. She struggled to sit up, her hand unconsciously reaching for Excalibur, the gesture striking Flynn in the heart.

"Cal?" she whispered, confused at seeing the sword so still.

"He... he's gone," Flynn said, his voice cracking.

Clara slumped back, the ghost of guilt flickering through her heart, even as she didn't understand it. "The - the Crown?" she asked, her breath fading from her.

"You did it," Flynn said, tears filling his eyes, "you stopped them."

Clara sighed heavily, feeling as though a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. The others approached, Cassandra hanging back. Lamia had fled, not wanting to comprehend what Clara had become, what it would mean for her. Flynn had taken the Crown from Clara, concealing it from her sight, just as he would conceal who she really was from the others. That would be his burden to bear, nobody else's.

Cassandra kneeled down in front of Clara, tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'm so sorry."

Clara frowned, her lips struggling to frame an answer, the last of her life fading from her. The world was drowning in darkness, pulling her under, dragging her down. Her eyes fluttered shut, her hand failing to find Flynn's, her arm slumping to her side. Flynn stood up, swaying on the spot, his face bloodless. Eve reached out to him, but he suddenly lashed out at her, his face oddly feral.

"Don't," he hissed, "don't touch me."

The others looked down at the ground, averting their gaze away from where Clara lay, Ezekiel wrapping his arms around his head, Jacob suddenly booting the wall, making them all jump violently. Cassandra stared at Clara, struggling with herself, wrestling with her guilt and her desire. She wanted to live but she hadn't wanted Clara to die for it.

"Oh God," Cassandra breathed, before closing her eyes and pressing the palms of her hands against Clara's still heart, an aureole of azure light engulfing them both. As the light faded, Clara jerked back into being, Cassandra slumping sideways, Ezekiel rushing to catch her, Flynn throwing himself down beside Clara, his face filled with disbelief.

"What the hell did you just do!?" he demanded, struggling to steady Clara.

"The Brotherhood gave me life," Cassandra said weakly, "so I gave Clara the same gift."

"Oh, Cassie," Jacob said quietly, kneeling down beside her.

"Clara saved me," Cassandra whispered, "you all saved me." She glanced round at their puzzled faces, offering them each a wobbly smile. "For once I felt I belonged, you know?" she explained, her lower lip trembling. "I wasn't the odd one out anymore."

A silence fell in the wake of her words, Clara burying her face in Flynn's shoulder, her hand finally finding his.

_Darkness cover me_  
_Deny everything_  
_Slowly walk away_  
_To breathe again_  
_On my own..._


	22. The Upstarts

**The Upstarts **

"Hartley!" Flynn called, striding across the grass to where Clara stood on the edge of the riverbank, her face thoughtful.

"Flynn," she said, inclining her head, the gesture jarringly royal, making Flynn falter. He had buried Excalibur, saying a final farewell to his best friend, struggling to find the strength to let go of all that he had left. Despite the Annex, the Library was gone from him, along with Charlene and Judson, and he couldn't keep Clara by his side, even as he wanted to.

"How are you?" he asked, ramming his hands into his blazer pockets.

"I'll live," Clara said distantly, looking out at the river. Then she turned to face him, her brow furrowing. "What really happened back there, Flynn?" she asked him suddenly, her dark eyes questioning.

"Just what I told you," Flynn lied, not missing a beat. "Nothing else, nothing more. The magic returned to the earth. Lamia lost and we won."

Clara studied him for a moment, her brown hair billowing slightly in the faint breeze, making Flynn's breath catch in his throat. He barely knew her, yet it felt like he had always known her, a contradiction he still couldn't get his head around. But there had always been a chasm between him and Clara, a crevasse of their own creation, one he just couldn't cross.

"I came to say good-bye," he said, cutting straight to the point.

Clara smoothed down the folds of her red dress, suddenly finding it hard to face him. "Well, I guess this is it, then," she said lightly, shielding her eyes against the glare of the sun with the back of her hand.

"I suppose it is," Flynn said just as lightly.

They looked at each other for a long moment, before Flynn turned his head away, Clara looking out across the river instead, her heart in turmoil. She didn't love Flynn, but sometimes she hated him with an odium she didn't quite understand, dividing them even as it drew them together.

"I'm sorry about Cal," she said quietly, making Flynn glance up at her.

"So am I," Flynn said, suddenly pretending to become very absorbed in straightening his cravat.

Clara bit her lip, remembering the sword with a soul of its own, the memory suddenly filling her heart with venom, startling her. Then it was gone, leaving a lingering bitterness that made Clara take a step back.

Flynn glanced at her again, his brow furrowing. "You okay?" he asked, taking a step forwards.

"I'm fine," Clara snapped, "I'm not going to pop my clogs at the slightest provocation, you know."

Flynn just exhaled sharply, before rumpling up his dark hair with an agitated hand. "Well, I guess this is it, then," he said, echoing her earlier words.

"That's what I said," Clara said, rolling her eyes.

Flynn just grinned brokenly, before turning and leaving.

"Wait," Clara called, her voice cracking, making Flynn stop and turn around.

"What is it?" he asked, his own voice suddenly very strained.

"What about Eve?" Clara burst out, blushing hotly.

"What about her?"

"She - she _likes_ you," Clara said, sounding like the words were being wrenched from her.

"But she isn't you, is she?" Flynn said simply, and before Clara could blink, he was gone.

* * *

Clara walked over to where Ezekiel, Jacob and Cassandra were waiting by Jenkins's battered station-wagon, their heads turning in unison as she approached. She raised her hand to them in a hesitant hello, but before Clara could blink, Jacob was swinging her off her feet again, whirling her around in a dizzying circle, the world becoming a blur of blue and green.

"You really have to stop doing that, Stone," Clara reprimanded, her head spinning as he set her down.

"And you really have to stop being so prim and proper," Jacob admonished, ramming his hands into his wind-breaker pockets.

"So you're alive again?" Ezekiel interjected hastily.

"Obviously," Clara snapped.

An uncomfortable silence fell, Cassandra catching Clara's eye before looking away, her face reddening.

"Oh, look, it's the upstarts," Jenkins called out as he came across the grass towards them. In his hand, he carried four white envelopes, the sight making Clara's heart sink in her chest. "Your airline tickets," he said pompously, handing the envelopes out, his gaze lingering on Clara the longest, making her shift uncomfortably on the spot.

"That's it?" Jacob said incredolously.

"For you, yes," Flynn said, appearing out of nowhere, Eve at his side. "It's not fair or safe to involve you in this life any longer," he added, glancing at Clara, who looked away, struggling with the sudden jealousy that had reared its head within her at the sight of Eve beside him.

"A life that would have been ours, if destiny had worked out a little differently," Ezekiel almost challenged as he shook Flynn's hand.

"I think not," Flynn said, smiling patronizingly.

"So we're going back to our old lives, then," Jacob said, almost crushing his envelope out of existence, "knowing that magic is real."

"It's time to face the world, troops," Flynn said stiffly, sidestepping Jacob's statement, offering his hand to Cassandra instead.

"But the world is _so_ big," Cassandra snapped, ignoring his outstretched hand. "What happens if we can't move on?"

"And what happens if we don't have a home to go back to?" Clara asked, stepping forwards. "The Serpent Brotherhood blew up my apartment, and as for going back to my day job, that's pie in the sky as far as I'm concerned."

Flynn tugged on his cravat, looking awkward, something like doubt starting to stir in him.

"You can't do this to us, Flynn," Cassandra said earnestly, turning the full battery of her big blue eyes on him. "You can't send us away."

"No, you can't," Ezekiel chimed in, "it's bad form, man."

"And anyways, it's not up to you to decide," Jacob said, "it was the Library who chose us, not you."

"You can't deny us," Clara said quietly, her words striking Flynn through the heart like a sword, turning his doubt into a full blown storm.

* * *

"You're not having second thoughts, are you?" Jenkins asked in an angry undertone, making Flynn flinch. After returning from Buckingham Palace, Flynn had entrusted the Crown to Jenkins's possession, as well as the knowledge of what had happened, knowing there was no point in hiding the truth of who Clara really was, when Jenkins already knew. It had been in the Annex and under Jenkins's disapproving eye, that Flynn had finally reached the decision to send Clara and the others home, Jenkins toasting his judgement with a cup of Earl Grey.

But now Flynn was getting cold feet. He didn't know what to do or what he should do. Guinevere had said the Library had tried to save Clara from herself, Jenkins adding weight to her words with his own, saying Clara had been brought into the fold for a reason, that they had to accept its decree, but now Jenkins was backtracking, doing the opposite, exiling Clara from the Annex, confusing Flynn even further.

"I don't know what to do," Flynn admitted reluctantly, ramming his hands into his blazer pockets again.

"_What?_" Jenkins exclaimed, his eyes beginning to bulge dangerously.

"I don't know what to do!" Flynn snapped.

"Can't handle a bit of emotional blackmail, can we?" Jenkins said scathingly. "Letting the upstarts upset you, hmmm?"

"The Library allowed Clara through its doors," Flynn hissed, "knowing full well what she was. It made her my responsibility" -

\- "More like it made _you _Clara's responsibility," Jenkins retorted. "Remember, she's the one that saved that rather padded posterior of yours."

Silence.

"You said the Library brought Clara into the fold for a reason, that we just had to accept its decree," Flynn then said slowly, putting his thoughts into words, "because you knew all along what she was, what she was capable of. But you never said anything, you just stood back and let her sacrifice herself" –

\- "Because unlike you, I don't pretend to understand the Library," Jenkins said coldly. "It had its own agenda in regard to Clara, and all I did was submit to its will. We are just the Library's puppets, Flynn, a row of marionettes it manipulates for its own amusement" –

\- "But Guinevere said the Library was trying to_ save_ Clara" –

\- "Not out of the goodness of its heart, though," Jenkins retorted. "It just used her as its instrument" –

"And the others, aren't they the Library's instruments as well?" Flynn snapped. "They were dragged into this debacle for a reason, Jenkins - it's – it's not just about Clara. She helped find the Crown, and she helped get it back, but she didn't do it on her own. She was sent a letter the same as the others, and she was on the Serpent Brotherhood's hit-list the same as the others. If we cut out the conundrum of Guinevere, Clara is no different from Ezekiel, Jacob and Cassandra, they're all" –

"Librarians?" Jenkins finished for him.

_Oh, I hear us coming round_  
_Denial comes, oh_  
_The underground is overground_  
_The overground will pull you down_

_It's how it goes in these times_  
_How we know it's in our eyes_  
_Upstarts now are on their way_  
_Upstarts now have to pay_  
_And hear, they tell it now so fast_

_Oh, I hear us coming round_  
_Oh, I feel it_  
_Upstarts are on their way..._


	23. Here Is Gone

**Here Is Gone**

_You and I got something_  
_But it's all and then it's nothing to me_  
_And I got my defences_  
_When it comes through your intentions for me_  
_And we wake up in the breakdown_  
_With the things we never thought we could be_

Clara perched on the edge of Flynn's desk, ignoring its protests. A strange sense of nostalgia descended upon her, as though she was remembering something from centuries ago, instead of a few days, death dividing her from everything she had ever known. She smoothed down the folds of her dress, the still silence of the Annex surrounding her, almost allowing the illusion the Library wasn't lost, but still here, her home.

Flynn slung the satchel strap over his chest, before making his way over to the book-shelves, roughly pulling out volume after volume, their spines squawking in outrage. Despite his doubts over sending Clara and the others away, there was nothing he could do but that. The Library was lost, leaving only the Annex behind, a contradiction and conundrum all rolled into one. And now here he was, packing up what was left of his life. Apart from making sure Clara had a roof over her head and a job to go back to, he didn't know what to do next, or what he could do. Flynn Carsen and the mundane just didn't mix.

"The Library's really gone, then?" Clara asked quietly, making Flynn glance up at her.

He hesitated before answering. "It is, and then it isn't," he said, making her brow furrow, "the Library's gone but the Annex is still here. The two of them are separate but connected - and don't ask me to explain how. For once, I am a fool."

"What exactly is the Annex anyways?" Clara said, standing up. "What's the point of it? If the Library's gone, why does it still exist?"

"It was how the Main Library accessed information," Flynn explained, "but now, we can only access the card-catalogues and records, as well as the books and manuscripts. As for the artefacts, they're lost along with the rest of the Library."

"What about Jenkins?" Clara pressed. "Can't he do anything?"

"He said he's tried," Flynn said tiredly, "but there's nothing he can do. The Library's gone rogue, becoming adrift in time and space."

"It sounds like a plot bunny plundered from Steven Moffat's imagination," Clara said, rolling her eyes.

"None of that matters," Flynn snapped, shoving a statue of Bast into his satchel. "It's all gone, whoomph, puff of smoke time."

"What about you though?" Clara said, coming over to him. "Where will you go? What will you do?"

"I don't know," Flynn said, shrugging his shoulder. "Flip a burger or forty? Found an empire online? Who knows and who cares?"

"I care."

Flynn stared at her. "You said you didn't," he said, buckling his satchel shut.

"I was lying, lashing out," Clara said, unable to meet his eyes. "I do care, Flynn. I might not act like I do, but I do."

"It sounds like a song," Flynn said, frowning, "like a mash up of Mary Poppins and Celine Dion."

"You've not answered my question."

"There's nothing to answer."

This time Clara stared at him. "You know what?" she said, folding her arms across her chest. "It just looks to me like you're giving up."

"I'm not giving up," Flynn protested. "I'm just... going away."

"But why?" Clara argued. "Alright, the Library's gone, but the Annex is still here. You might not have artefacts, but you still have information. Knowledge is power, remember?"

"I couldn't have put it better myself," a familiar voice said from a nearby mirror, making Flynn's head jerk up, Clara's eyes widening in disbelief. "Hello Hartley," Judson said jovially, sweeping her an ironic bow. "But farewell Flynn," he continued, "I enjoyed your elbow-patches." He made to fade, only for Clara to shriek _STOP! _"I'm only joshing," Judson said, bringing his body back into being, his eyes twinkling in amusement, Clara exhaling sharply in relief, shaking her head at him.

"Ha!" Flynn boomed, rushing the mirror. "_Ha!_"

"Ha indeed, my boy," Judson boomed back. "How is that talking kilt of yours?"

"A veritable chatterbox," Flynn grinned.

"You disappear like that again," Clara said, coming over, "I'll turn you into a teapot. Savvy?"

"Stop it, I'm blushing," Judson said, feigning a swoon.

"So what brings you to this neck of woods, then?" Flynn asked, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.

"The Library's intact," Judson said, no standing on ceremony.

Flynn exhaled sharply, his shoulders slumping in relief. "Charlene?" he said, grabbing Clara's hand.

"She's with the Library," Judson said, glancing at Clara. "She's stronger than she looks."

"Are _you _alright?" Clara asked, worried.

"My... my time is done," Judson said uneasily.

"You're ready to move on?" Clara said, exchanging a confused glance with Flynn, imagining white lights and heavenly realms.

"No, _you're_ ready to move on," Judson said formally, folding his hands behind him. "You and Flynn both."

Clara just stared at him, bewildered, but Flynn swallowed hard, understanding when she didn't. He let go of her hand, stepping forwards instead, the tears welling up in his eyes, his chin trembling. "You know," he said, voice cracking, "I never had a... father" -

\- "And I never had a son," Judson said almost abruptly, his own voice cracking, belying his bluntness. They stared at one another, and then Flynn smiled, his eyes crinkling up in the corners again, their silence saying what words couldn't. "Well, now we're both liars," Judson said suddenly, startling Clara.

"Excuse me?" she exclaimed, stepping forwards.

"I'm going to find the Library," Flynn said to Judson, halting her with his hand. "_I_ am the Librarian." But as he said this, his eyes met Clara's, something passing between them, drawing them together again.

"Nothing's impossible," she said quietly, a smile tugging on her lips.

"So says my impossible girl," Flynn parried, raising an ironic eyebrow.

"Oh, get a TARDIS," Judson said, flapping a hand at them.

"On this budget and in this outfit?" Flynn said. "No way, Nietzsche."

"So we'll steal a spaceship, then," Clara retorted, "or it'll steal us."

"This is all hypothetical, by the way," Judson said, looking at her like she was mad. "Isn't it?"

Silence.

"So the Serpent Brotherhood," Flynn said pompously, concealing his unease with ceremony, "what's the sad score with them?"

"They failed," Judson said slowly, "but they released an enormous amount of magic into the world. You're in charge now, Flynn, but you're not going to have time to search for the Library."

"I said I was the Librarian," Flynn said, spreading his hands out in front of him, "but I didn't say I was the only one."

Clara stared at him, only for the penny to drop.

"Oh, you're only getting it now?" Flynn said, brow furrowing. "I thought you knew. Like nine speeches back."

"What, the epic '_I_ am the Librarian' bit?" Clara guessed, brow furrowing as well.

"I was trying for two-edged," Flynn pointed out. "Obviously I failed."

Judson cleared his throat pointedly.

"Cough lozenge?" Clara offered sarcastically.

"No, thank you," Judson replied, unperturbed. "Death's a bit dusty. They don't tell you that down at the funeral parlour. It's all embalming and emery boards."

"Ummm, _okkkay_," Clara said, scared now. "What were we talking about?" She turned to Flynn for help, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Clara died," Flynn said in an aside to Judson, deciding to skip the Guinevere part, "but she's okay now."

Judson just nodded judicially. "Life suits you," he complimented Clara. "It brings out your eyes."

"Can we please drop the subject, now?" Clara said, starting to skip from one foot to the next.

"As long as you don't drop the casket," Judson joked, metaphorically elbowing Flynn in the side.

"Oh, you old coffin-dodger," Flynn said, nudging Clara in the side.

"That cravat looks most suitable for strangling someone with," Clara said, looking pointedly at Flynn's throat.

Silence

"You're in charge, Flynn," Judson said cryptically, breaking the quiet. "_You're _the _Librarian_."

Flynn stared at Judson, wrongfooted, only to whirl around as Eve strutted into the Annex, her heels clicking across the floorboards.

"Eve," he said, inclining his head.

"Flynn," she said just as formally, nodding at Clara, who nodded back.

"They're gone?" Flynn asked, twisting his hands in front of him.

"They're going," Eve corrected him.

Flynn glanced at the now empty mirror. "_I'm _in charge," he said slowly, "_I'm_ the _Librarian_." Without warning, he suddenly took off, Eve hurrying after him, leaving Clara in the now empty Annex. She glanced at the mirror, only to see Judson, his eyes meeting hers. He jerked his head at the doorway, his eyes twinkling again, Clara smiling, before following in Flynn's footsteps.


	24. And She Was An Adventure

**And She Was An Adventure**

Clara sprinted up the steps, just in time to see Flynn throw himself in front of Jenkins's station-wagon, halting it in its tracks. "Hartley, over here!" he yelled, waving his arm at her.

"Hold your horses, I'm coming," she snapped, striding forwards.

"I'm certainly dressed for the occasion," he declared, shaking a leg at her, showing off his riding boots to their best advantage.

"What's going on, Carsen?" Jacob asked, coming out of the car, the others following him.

"Where you leaving without me?" Clara demanded, hurt.

"Don't blame me," Jacob flared up, "blame Carsen's butler."

"You were leaving me behind?" Clara said, rounding on Jenkins.

"You are homeless and unemployed," Jenkins said tersely, "and the others aren't. Do the math."

"It doesn't give you the right to leave me behind," Clara snapped. "We're all in this together."

"Which precisely proves my point," Flynn interjected, forcing them into a rugby huddle. "Open your envelopes."

"Why?" Cassandra questioned. "We know what's in them."

"You think you do," Flynn said cryptically. "But you don't, not really."

"We do," Ezekiel said sarcastically. "It's a one way ticket back to the real world."

"Guess again, guvnor," Flynn taunted. "Now open your envelopes before I turn you all into postage stamps."

"It would certainly save on the airfare," Jenkins muttered, folding his arms across his chest.

Flynn just waggled his eyebrows, watching as they tore open their respective envelopes. But instead of airline tickets, it was a letter from the Library, black slanted writing appearing like the magic it was. "Just as I suspected," he said, clapping his hands together, "we have a lot of work to do."

* * *

"You can't do this, Flynn," Jenkins protested, "think of my tea-cups!"

"What about your tea-cups?" Flynn said, setting his satchel down on his desk, the others hanging back, faces filled with nervous excitement.

"My tea-cups require tranquillity," Jenkins said, wringing his hands. "What part of that don't you understand?"

"This is a perfect base for operations," Flynn said, gesturing around the Annex. "What part of that don't _you_ understand?"

"You'll have access to the archives, but not the artefacts," Jenkins said, switching tact.

"Knowledge is power," Flynn said, exchanging a glance with Clara. "And you'll be here to teach them how to research, as well as supervise their training. Your tea-cups are in safe hands, Jenkins."

"What are you talking about?" Jenkins demanded. "I'm not your Yoda!"

"No, you're _their _Yoda," Flynn said, beckoning the others to come forwards.

"We don't _train_ Librarians," Jenkins argued, stepping forwards as they did, almost forming a stand-off.

"And isn't that _stupid_," Flynn said, pulling a ridiculous face. "Look at Clara here," he then said, taking her by the elbow and bringing her even further forwards, "a highly intelligent but totally unsuspecting individual who was taken and dropped into a world of magic against her will. And do you know what happened? She died before she even learned where the toilet was."

"You showed me where the toilet was," Clara said, looking at him if he was mad. "Your bathroom hated me. In fact, your toilet roll tried to strangle me" -

\- "And that is a story for another day," Flynn said hastily. "My point is, she wasn't trained," he said, turning to Jenkins. "She had no choice in the matter, and no chance either."

"But that's the way it is," Jenkins snapped. "That's how it's always been done!"

"Now I'm Librarian, we're not doing it that way anymore," Flynn said, flapping a bookmark back and forth between Jenkins and the others. "Meet my lovely Librarianettes, my little LITs" -

\- "Your what?" Jacob said, speaking up, startled.

"Librarians In Training," Flynn explained. "Do keep up."

"But they're not qualified," Eve said, worried.

"Then we'll qualify them," Flynn rejoindered.

Silence.

"I'll still handle the big stuff," Flynn said, leaning against a book-case, ignoring its protests. "They'll just handle the slightly... lesser... apocalyptic stuff." He shrugged his shoulders at Eve who looked unconvinced. "It'll free me up to find the Library," he said quietly, straightening up, "so I can bring it back." He patted the book-case, making it purr instead.

"That is impossible," Jenkins said, shaking his head.

"Impossible, pipsy-pox, pixie-posh!" Flynn exploded, waving his hands like a windmill through the air. "People keep saying that as if we don't eat the impossible for breakfast every day. I am going to find the Library, end of."

"And we're going to be Librarians, end of," Clara said, staring Jenkins down.

"Yeah, we are," Jacob said, rolling up his sleeves.

"Hot damn, we are," Cassandra said, tossing her hair back.

"We're going steal your soul," Ezekiel declared dramatically, clasping Cassandra's shoulder.

"Not quite," Flynn said, "but you're going to save the world."

"We're going to guard it," Eve said, stepping forwards.

"Precisely," Flynn finished, turning to Jenkins. "Savvy?"

"Savvy," Jenkins said dourly.

* * *

_I'll stay with you_  
_The walls will fall before we do_  
_Take my hand now_  
_We'll run forever_  
_I can feel the storm inside you_  
_I'll stay with you…_

"So this is it, then?" Clara asked, making Flynn turn around. "You're leaving?"

"I'm coming back," he reminded her, slinging his satchel across his chest.

Clara just nodded, before turning away, unable to meet his eyes.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked quietly, making her glance up at him.

"What do you mean?" she said, folding her arms across her chest.

"I'm offering you a life of mystery and misery," he said, coming over to her, "of loneliness but adventure. More than that, I'm offering you an opportunity to make a difference, to save the world every week - twice before Friday," he amended, making Clara smile despite herself. "But it's your choice, nobody else's. Are you in?"

Clara studied Flynn for a moment, before nodding again, making her final decision, exorcising her last doubts. Flynn had said she couldn't outrun the past, and so here she was, no longer fighting her fate. "What about Cassandra?" she asked, her voice cracking.

_What about you? _Flynn wanted to say, remembering Guinevere. Instead, he just shook his head. "She sacrificed her life for yours," he said, "I trust her. I hope you can teach the others to do the same."

"It's their choice," Clara said, dropping her arms to her side.

"You're the future," Flynn said, stepping forwards, "you and the others, but you have to trust each other. I haven't met anyone I could trust for the last five years until I found you. I trust you, Clara," he said, taking her hands in his. "You taught me to trust again."

They stared at each other, and then she was in his arms, his mouth crushing hers, recklessness ruining them. But Clara didn't care. All that mattered was this moment, that he was hers -

"Oh joy," Jenkins said dourly, making Clara whirl around. She glared at Jenkins who just raised his eyebrows at her before stalking off, a tea-trolley trundling behind him, its wheels moving by magic. But when Clara turned back to face Flynn, it was only to find him gone.

"Oh joy," she echoed, folding her arms across her chest. "Oh_ joy_."

_**The End**_

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you to everyone that read, reviewed, followed and favourited this story. The sequel, _Plato's Step-Daughter, _can be found under the 'My Stories' section of my profile.


End file.
